Deep Within
by Lael Adair
Summary: J'onn's voice dropped. "I know something terrible has recently befallen you. I know you are aggrieved, I can feel you are in pain, and as someone who seems to take offense from it, I extend my deepest apologies." -JL/Return of Joker, complete-
1. Chapter 1

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WARNING: _RETURN OF THE JOKER _SPOILERS

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This fanfiction takes place during and directly after the events described in the flashback in _Return of the Joker_ which is actually a Batman Beyond movie.  
**I'm not sure if this timeline is correct.** I don't know if Batman was in the Justice League when all of this happened. He probably wasn't. But even if that's the case, I think this idea is neat and works really well. It makes a good "what if" scenario.  
I'm assuming that the JL episodes highlight spaced events in the League's chronology. In plain English, that means I highly doubt there's some large scale emergency every night that the League must deal with. More likely, the events in "Secret Origins" happen one day and then maybe a month later "In Blackest Night" happens, etc. **This fanfiction takes place _between_ "Wild Cards" and "Starcrossed."** (No "Starcrossed" in this guys, sorry. It aired while the fic was already done and going through it's cleanup stage.) Therefore, since that's 49 episodes marking some 24 or so different events, that should put us at least a year into the League, maybe two or three.  
Beyond that, I don't know exactly where this fits in chronologically. I think I'm just going to let the writing flow and we'll see where we end up.  
**For those of you that don't know the _Return of the Joker_ story, I'll explain a little.  
**-ahem-

The Joker suddenly shows up in the Batman Beyond universe after being dead for several years. Bruce Wayne makes it clear to Terry that he doesn't want him tackling the Joker at all. Curious as to why, Terry sets out to find the answer. He meets with commissioner Gordon (aka the former Batgirl) and she takes him through the tale:  
Back in the good 'ol days when Robin (Tim Drake), Batgirl, and Batman were a team, Robin was on a solo patrol at night and the Joker snagged him. For three weeks Batman and Batgirl tried to hunt the Joker down, find where Tim was being held, but it was like Robin had vanished. There was no trace of him. Finally, the Joker sends a message of sorts and they go to Arkham (which is abandoned at this point in time) to pick Tim up.  
Instead of Tim, they find a Joker Jr. in his place. The Joker had mercilessly tortured him until he broke. Then the Joker worked to rebuild the shattered pieces of Tim's mind into his own image. He half succeeded.  
After it was over, they got a psychologist, Dr. Leslie Thompkins, to work steadily with Tim and get him back to normal. Gordon said it took a year. 

Ta daaa! See, that wasn't so bad. For anyone who hasn't seen the movie, I recommend watching it. It's just awesome.  
Anyway, assuming that Batman was with the Justice League when all of this happened, **my story deals with how Batman balanced his JL duties with this tragedy**...if he made an attempt at all. It's also going to focus on the other characters as well, so there's a little bit for everyone.  
In addition, I don't read comic books. Therefore, everything in here is only from the cartoon shows. Any references, similarities, or contradictions to the comic books are purely coincidental/inconsequential.  
(For those curious, the bold text is for people who are skimming.)****

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****These characters aren't mine. I use them merely out of respect for what the talented people at WB have done. Way to go, guys. You deserve a cookie.

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-------------------- Deep Within --------------------  
Written By: Lael Adair 

"What I give form to in daylight is only one percent of what I have seen in darkness."  
- M.C. Escher 

Chapter 1 

The streets of New York were dim in the shadows of the night. The lamps lining their sides, while well intentioned, did little to banish the darkness save for the single bright circle around each of their bases. A steady wind whipped through the streets, a lingering reminder of the fading cold season. As a consequence the air was a paradox of temperatures, warm on its own but chilled by winter's begrudging farewell kiss. Had Superman not been otherwise occupied he might have stopped to admire this touching metaphor. At the moment, however, he was more concerned with wrestling a giant stuffed alligator. 

If Metropolis' poster boy had been told twenty minutes ago that he would soon be in a toy store fighting a war against a myriad of rogue-turned toys, he'd have given some serious consideration to having said-messenger committed. In tribute to the age-old proverb, seeing was believing. 

Superman grunted as his heels dug backwards into the checkered floor of the EOG Toy Store. He could hear the tile cracking underneath his feet and almost laughed when he realized what that meant. He was losing to a stuffed animal. 

The beast was reared on its hind legs in front of him, stuffed teeth and glassy eyes flashing as it struggled to take a bite out of whatever body part was most convenient. For a creature made entirely of tenderized cotton it was incredibly strong. Superman had his hands firmly wedged between the reptile's jaws, keeping the powerful mandibles from closing down on any other part of his clothing. He had quickly found out that while they looked fake, this alligator's teeth were most decidedly real. He had the rips in his costume to prove it. The beast snarled, lashing its sinuous tail like a whip, and snapped its head sideways out of Superman's grasp. Its gleaming fangs immediately clamped down onto his left arm like a vice. Even the strongest of metals could not have pierced the Kryptonian's tough hide, but the razor-sharp teeth slashed his sleeve to pieces. Countering quickly, Superman ducked to the right and slammed a heavy fist straight into the alligator's skull...or, where its skull would have been if it was actually alive. Pieces of white stuffing flew into the air as his fists hit the creature again and again, driving it back across the room. The fluffy cotton flying from the split seams in the alligator's head almost made Superman sick. Technically the material _was_ the creature's innards. One final blow sent the alligator flying across the room and slamming into a shelf full of toys. 

The reptile had barely hit the ground when a sudden cloud of shiny black smoke descended upon the Man of Steel. Superman thrashed his arms in an attempt to see, deafened by the awful roar of what sounded like a thousand bees. Something small and sharp hit him deftly on the side of the face like a kamikaze pilot. Glancing down, he realized the cloud was not a swarm of bees. It was a swarm of action figures, and he had just been assaulted by a tiny model of the Green Lantern. Grunting at the annoying prickles of plastic striking his skin, Superman swung one of his powerful arms into the mass. The figures merely parted, allowing his fist to glide through them without resistance. He was just about to switch to heat vision when as suddenly as they had appeared, the figures parted, retreating back to the ceiling where presumably they had been hovering before. It did not take Superman long to find out why. 

The ground gave a terrible shake as something extremely heavy dropped from the higher floors. Superman felt a massive hand wrap around the back of his neck, and then saw a succession of ceiling and floor as he was picked up and slammed, face down, into the black and white checkered tile. A second deft jerk brought him up from the ground and face-to-face with the plastic yellow mug of a very big Lego man. 

"You gotta be kidding me." 

The abomination somehow roared without a mouth, and threw Superman as hard as it could into the cash registers. One of the machine's sharp corners caught him directly in the small of his back as he hit it and landed on his knees behind the counter. He was up on his feet almost instantly, flying towards the giant with both fists in front of him like a battering ram. The Lego man spread his legs to center his weight, intending to catch the charge. He received a nasty surprise. At the last second Superman pulled up from the glide and slammed a fist into his enemy's jaw. The large yellow head slipped off effortlessly and even made a hole in the ceiling on its way into orbit. A second punch landed directly into the behemoth's chest, sending Legos skittering all over the floor. Superman threw himself deeper into his target, swinging again and again and again and again.... 

And then the air around him began to break. 

It was the strangest sensation, strange enough to make the Man of Steel stop his charge. Had he not seen it with his own eyes he never would have believed it. Everything was literally rippling, as if the entire world was a pond that had just been disturbed by a massive pebble. While Superman stood blinking, trying to fix what he thought was a problem with his vision, all that he had perceived as truth faded away to another reality. Where the 'alligator' had fallen was nothing more than a mutilated pile of what had once been stuffed kittens. Their heads and bodies were in several states of disarray all over the floor. The ceiling held no trace of the action figures Superman could have sworn were there only seconds ago. The only thing that had seemingly been real was the pile of Legos at his feet--a once very skillfully arranged castle that had heralded the front of the store's Lego section. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, he stared blankly at the destruction around him. And then realization hit. 

He had just spent the last twenty minutes fighting illusions. 

Enraged, the Kryptonian used his x-ray vision to scan the area for the criminal responsible. There was nobody there. The Mad Hatter had escaped. 

_Superman._

A sudden voice cut through his head, startling him out of his angry search. He hated when J'onn did that. It was creepy. 

_I'm sorry, but your communicator is off._

"That's because I was a little busy!" he snapped. 

There was a pause. _Is something wrong?_

Superman rubbed his temple. "No. It's nothing. What do you need, J'onn?" 

_Clayface is coming your way. You'd better get ready._

--------------------

Hawkgirl shifted her heavy mace impatiently in her hands. "Did you contact him?" 

"Yes" J'onn answered. His glowing eyes reverted to their normal state. 

Green Lantern stepped up from behind the two, limbering up his wrists for action. "Which way are Flash and Wonder Woman chasing him?" 

"Towards the subway entrance on Eighth Street. We should be able to trap him in the station." 

Lantern grunted and lifted himself into the air. "Fine. Let's get this over with." 

J'onn glanced hopelessly after Lantern's receding form. Beside him Hawkgirl was scowling, though the Martian already knew it was not at Green Lantern. Batman's unprecedented absence was beginning to wear thin on all of them. 

It seemed an unusual number of Gotham villains had been leaking into the surrounding cities as of late, which explained the League's presence in New York tonight. Batman's absent expertise with his own crowd was making it increasingly hard to quell the disturbances. As a perfect example, Clayface had been giving Wonder Woman and Flash the run-a-round for well over half an hour. Hopefully with all six of them there they would finally be able to contain him. J'onn wasn't so sure he could say as much for the tempers brewing underneath the surface of the League. 

A dull ache rippled through the front of his head, causing the Martian to grimace and raise a hand to his temple. He'd been getting a number of headaches lately. They had started off just as minor annoyances, but as the weeks went on they were steadily growing worse. J'onn was almost to the point where he was considering giving those human 'pain killers' a try. He really didn't understand why he'd be getting them now of all times. He had never gotten them before, but the others didn't seem too concerned. They jokingly told him that headaches were part of the superhero job package. 

A familiar sensation suddenly flashed through J'onn, causing him to start in surprise. His psychic foresight was alerting him to an approaching friend, but the person was almost on top of him. It should have picked them up a few yards back. Surprised, he turned quickly to greet the new arrival. 

He stopped. No one was there. 

"You see something?" Hawkgirl asked absently. She was pretending to fiddle with her mace while she waited for J'onn to hurry up. As always, the Thanagarian was eager to get into battle. 

J'onn scanned the streets for the person his psychic abilities insisted was right in front of him. The feeling began to slip from his concentration. Puzzled, he struggled to hold onto it but it filtered through his fingers like sand. Within seconds it was completely gone. He frowned and cast out his mind to try and seek the target himself. There was nothing. The individual was most definitely out of his psychic range, a distance of about five miles in every direction. 

"That's impossible." 

"What?" 

He glanced dazedly at Hawkgirl. "I...thought I felt someone behind me." 

"I'm behind you." 

"No. It was someone else." 

She shrugged. "Maybe you're losing your touch" she teased, elbowing him playfully in the arm. 

J'onn didn't share in the joke. Hawkgirl didn't understand. Martians didn't 'lose their touch.' Their psychic abilities were as much a part of them as a human's heart was to the body. If he had felt a presence and no one was there, then that meant someone had managed to penetrate his consciousness without his consent. But, as he had said before, that was impossible. Humans were incapable of manipulating psychic strands...and Batman was most definitely not nearby. 

--------------------

He had never thought it would come to this. 

No. That was a lie. He had been a fool to think this would never happen. He had been a fool for taking in all those damn kids in the first place. And now one of them was missing, and Batman was faced with an enemy he had thought long dead: fear. 

He extended his grappling hook up into the tangled mass of concrete buildings that made up the skyline of Gotham City. His aim was terrible. The dark, angular weight at the end of the line nearly missed its mark. The silent reminder of failure sent a streak of fresh frustration coursing through him. He knew his broken concentration was making his search inefficient. He was doing things wrong left and right, yet Bruce couldn't bring himself to care. Tim blocked out everything that used to matter. 

He leapt gracefully off the building, his thoughts whirling uncontrollably in his head. 

This was exactly why he had embarked on this path alone. He had no right to endanger the lives of others with this. They deserved better. They didn't understand. They didn't know what they were doing. They had things to lose that he didn't. He should have never agreed to any of this. And yet there was Barbara---Batgirl---swinging right beside him, rushing into battle for a cause that she only knew about but didn't feel. Rushing into something that, for her, was just a game. A chance to play hero and save the day. 

Bruce forced the thoughts out of his mind angrily. He had to pay _attention_! There would be time to worry about that later. All that mattered now was saving Robin. 

The logical voice in the back of Batman's head told him he was wasting his time. There was nothing left to save. Tim was dead. All he was really meeting the Joker for was to pick up a body. 

He went anyway. 

--------------------

A page of last week's _Gotham Tribune_ flipped lazily underneath the filmy light streaming from the ceiling. Years of growth and decay had eaten away at the electric bulbs, causing them to hang precariously by a handful of wires, but the Joker didn't care. He was too busy trying to focus his ADD-prone mind on the newspaper in front of him. A smile sat etched onto his lips. He could almost see the headlines scribbling themselves into the pages, echoing his thoughts. 

_Batman Revealed!_

Normally Gotham's most fearsome criminal wasn't much of a news-reader. If it wasn't about him or some expensive object he could steal, there was very little value he saw in it. Today, though, he was willing to do anything to pass the time. With little less than a half hour separating him from his greatest scheme ever, it was all he could do just to keep his eyes focused on the page. He was ready for Batman this time. He had the leverage, he had a plan, and most importantly, he had a name. 

The Joker's hands cringed angrily for a moment against the sides of the sports section. 

The name is what got to him. It wasn't about who it was. To his surprise, he had never done anything wrong to this person pre-Batman as far as he could tell. It was that the answer had been right in front of his face for so long and he had never even seen it. Of course, now that he knew, it made perfect sense. Who else would have had the time and leisure to pursue the criminals of Gotham at night? Who else would have had the motivation? The resources? The connections? The money? Only one person. 

The newspaper began to tear. 

How often had he been _this _close and never even realized who was standing there? God. Most times he had been near enough to smell the bastard's cologne. The irony was too thick for even his well-sharpened sense of humor to spare a chuckle. 

Mercifully, the grip began to relax as it was brought under control, sparing the sports section from further torment. 

In another time and another place, the Joker might very well have been angry. Or worse yet, he may have lost his sense of humor about all of it. But this wasn't another time or another place, and as he turned a second page in his newspaper he gave an even wider, content smile. In fact, things were quite the opposite. He hadn't been this happy in a long, long time. 

The Joker had always pictured Batman as being some self-obsessed do-gooder. One that came home after a vigorous night of crime fighting to pat himself on the back and raise a celebratory glass of champagne. He had spent countless nights in jail or Arkham cursing that image and everything it stood for. One could only imagine his delight when he found out he had been wrong. It was all very interesting, ironic even, that this mysterious person who prowled the streets of Gotham at night had turned out to be anything but a stranger. 

The symptoms would most likely be of the standard variety. He'd be fairly average looking with no discernible features that anyone would particularly remember. Schizoids almost always were since it defined the very essence of their existence. At nearly fifty years old he would still be alone with no wife or children, no family that anyone knew of, and no good friends that anyone could pinpoint. It would almost seem as if he didn't even exist unless it was necessary. This was because the person everyone saw was nothing more than a fraud. The real man underneath would be a pathetic nothing, an obsessive wretch of a human being who stayed locked within himself and his own little fabricated world. Contact with outside people would be minimal. He'd be withdrawn and secretive, quiet, and the few connections he did have with others would be short and impersonal. He probably went through women like toilet paper. 

They had a name for people like that in Arkham, a really technical one: crazy. 

Still smiling, the Joker flipped another page. 

He wouldn't be meeting the Batman tonight. Tonight he'd be meeting an equal. 

--------------------

J'onn hated going into the subway. Martians were accustomed to vast plains and warm temperatures, not freezing transit tunnels. He found the musty atmosphere of the dank caverns too gloomy for his tastes. It was fortunate he was not claustrophobic like his colleague Hawkgirl. That fear would have been a very bad one on the repertoire of a shapeshifter required, at times, to squeeze through quarter-inch pipes. However, when given the option of places to work, this and the sewers were not his particular favorites. 

"J'onn?" Superman's familiar tenor came floating over the communicator nestled within the Martian Manhunter's ear. At the moment it sounded slightly strained. "You find anything yet?" 

He raised a hand up to the device to answer. His own calm voice seemed meek as it echoed between the massive architectural columns spread through the subway tunnels. "No, but I've only surveyed a portion of the area. It will take a bit more time. These tunnels are more expansive than I remember." 

Returning his hand to his side, J'onn took a deep breath and returned his eyes to the search. He felt his teammates as they moved around him, passing in and out of his consciousness while they searched. With practiced grace he turned a blind eye to their minds, blocking out the information he was being fed. 

By evolutionary design, Martians were born with powerful psychic shields that protected their minds. The body kept the blood and organs in one contained spot and regulated how they functioned. Similarly, the shield kept their powers in one unified place and gave them direction and purpose. Lining the outside of the shield were hundreds of psychic tentacles. These probes constantly reached out into the surrounding environment and collected information, much like a snake flicking its tongue, though the data brought back was more abstract. It would seek to gently test the psychic vibrations in the surrounding area and possibly glimpse into any minds that happened to be close. The action was done several dozen times per minute, requiring little more than a microscopic sliver of power and certainly no conscious direction. It was nothing more than a natural phenomenon of the Martian physiology, as well as Martian society. On Mars these psychic probes would have constantly bumped and touched those belonging to other Martians, bouncing harmlessly off of shields whenever they came too close. The longer any Martian spent around an individual, the more likely it was that their probes would connect, forming a deeper bond that tied their essences together. The humans had a similar emotion called "friendship." When a Martian's probe became entangled with another, that was "love," and the individual chosen became their one and only lifemate. 

Unfortunately, J'onn was not on Mars, he was on Earth, and the inhabitants here possessed no protective shields. In fact J'onn had never met another creature, Earthling or not, that did. No species in the Universe that he knew of even came close to possessing the magnitude of psychic abilities he had. Because of this, J'onn's subconscious powers literally had free reign to invade any mind they chose. He was _constantly _being fed abstract information from the minds around him, his League teammates included. Most of the time it was not much of a problem. His species was, after all, designed to handle large quantities of extraneous information. But in situations such as this, where he had to find one mental signature out of many, it made for an annoying distraction. 

Normally J'onn would have been performing a psychic scan to simply seek out the mind of his target and enter their thoughts. The circumstances, however, were not conductive to finding Clayface in that manner. Shapeshifters' minds were too malleable to enter safely. 

Suddenly, about six hundred feet further down the tunnel, an unfamiliar signature flashed in the darkness. Someone was fast making their way along the subway tracks, their mind consumed with panicked thoughts of escape. Engaging his powers of flight J'onn took off like a shot after the receding villain. 

"I've found him!" he called out to the others. 

Farther down the tunnel Clayface heard the warning. Snarling with a sort of gurgled breath, he doubled his speed through the circular subway passage. The iron tracks underneath his feet made it hard to get his sludgy body over the numerous bumps and ridges. Panting heavily, he struggled to focus his concentration and turn into something with legs. A young child picked up running where Clayface had left off. He risked a glance behind him and gasped as he saw the Flash quickly gaining. Exhaling what little air was in his lungs, he dropped into a puddle on the floor and slid up a small pipe just as the speedster caught up with him. 

"He's heading towards the surface!" Flash hollered. Immediately, Superman halted and angled himself ninety degrees to explode into the street above. Wonder Woman and the others quickly followed, leaving Flash to run back and take the stairs. 

On the street level a shower of concrete and dirt flung into the air as Superman's massive fists pushed them aside. He halted a few feet off the ground and surveyed the people staring up at him with wide eyes. Running down the avenue not far away was a small child without any internal skeletal structure. 

"There! The child!" 

Hawkgirl leapt to the chase, mace crackling like an enormous bug zapper. "I see him!" 

--------------------

A thunderstorm raged outside as Batman extended his heel and violently kicked in the doors to Arkham Asylum. Long abandoned, the decrepit building was now nothing more than an eerie skeleton sitting on a darkened hill. A blackened perimeter fence that was direful even in the prime of its life snaked halfheartedly around the property. 

Batman had sent hundreds of criminals here in the past. Though the walls were cracked and the floors decayed, he still knew its corridors and hallways well. Stepping inside was like revisiting an old friend...a friend that was better left forgotten. A bold streak of light sliced through the sky, projecting Batman's trademark silhouette on the cement floor. As the following crash of thunder echoed among the halls like a raging beast, it was softly accompanied by another sound. Someone was singing. 

__

_Hush little baby, don't say a word...._

The lilting tune was usually a lullaby sung by mothers to send their children peacefully to sleep. When echoed among the decayed remains of an insane asylum, it assumed a perverted form. Acting without direction, Batman and Batgirl spread apart to search. They walked together down the long main corridor for a short time, searching all the rooms on either side of them. The doors to their rancid bellies hung open lazily by little more than a rusted hinge, revealing padded walls enshrouded with mold and roaches. The singing became louder and more distinct as they journeyed deeper into the stomach of the edifice. Batman knew it was Harley Quinn's voice. The Joker was leading him forward like a malevolent guardian, showing him where he needed to be. He was reminded briefly of Odysseus being lured to his death by the song of the sirens. 

Up ahead the broad hallway dead-ended into a set of rusted metal doors. Sharing only a brief look, Batgirl turned right and ran up a nearby set of stairs. Batman kept going straight. The singing was directly ahead of him now, floating gently from the cracks in the doors. A crooked sign affixed to their front read 'Operating Theatre.' Beyond was the observation room the asylum had once used for demonstrative procedures. 

Determined, Batman strode forward into the darkness and pushed the doors open with a forceful shove. 

Harley Quinn was standing in the center of the large room, singing to herself as she placed a purple flower vase with white daisies on top of a blue plaid tablecloth. She didn't look surprised to see the Dark Knight in the doorway. "Puddin'!" she called sweetly over her shoulder. "Company!" 

Up on a 'second floor' that was really more of a catwalk wrapping around the upper half of the room, the Joker put down a paper he was reading and stood. His eyes snapped animatedly towards the door. "Hello there!" He descended the stairs to the bottom floor in an easy saunter and cuddled next to Harley. "Welcome to our humble abode." 

Batman had lost his patience for games a long time ago. He advanced, fists clenched solidly at his sides. "Where's Robin?!" he demanded. 

Quinn and the Joker exchanged a puzzled look. "Robin?" the clown repeated. "There's no Robin here." 

Batman didn't hear the rest. Eyeing a curtain off to the left he roughly shoved Harley to the side and headed towards it. 

She gasped at the unexpected push and then recollected herself. "Ah ah" she chided, "No peeking!" 

Batman barely got a few steps before he heard a shot behind him. Turning, he was hit square in the chest with an odd projectile. Somehow Harley Quinn had managed to produce an enormous bazooka from somewhere. She must have gotten it from a nearby table or cupboard since the gigantic weapon could, in no way, have fit inside her skintight body suit. The Dark Knight fell backwards to the ground as thick red bonds wrapped themselves around his chest and waist, pinning his arms tightly to his sides. The position gave him a clear view of the stands overlooking the room. Batgirl was huddled determinedly among the seats, waiting. She made as if to attack but Batman ordered her to stay put with a subtle motion of his hand. 

Satisfied that he now had a captive audience, the Joker ambled forward, Harley in tow. "You know, Bats, we've been doing this little run around of ours for years. It's been loads of laughs, but the sad fact is none of us are getting any younger." 

"That old clock's a tickin'!" Harley interjected, patting an area of her stomach that she obviously mistook for holding her heart. 

The Joker grinned and shot an appreciative glance her way. "Quite right, poo---and Harley and I were thinking it was time to start a family, add a Joker Junior to our merry brood." 

Harley made a face. "But rather than go through all the 'joy' of childbirth, we decided to adopt." 

The two locked hands and began moving towards the curtain Batman had seen earlier. With their attention focused on their own devious plans they didn't notice the subtle move of the Dark Knight's left hand. As if by magic, a small silver folding knife leapt into his fingers and angled itself to begin sawing through his bonds. 

The Joker stopped just to the right of the curtain. Harley took the left. "We couldn't do it legally" he continued, "but then we remembered you always had a few spare kids hanging around. So we borrowed one." The last statement had a distinctively sinister tint to it, announcing that the inner core of the Joker's personality was now in control. 

Many people described the Joker as mad, but that was incorrect. To classify him as such was asserting that he was a slave to his insanity; that he didn't know right from wrong or up from down, and had no control over his cruel tendencies. In reality it was exactly the opposite. The Joker's madness and cruelty were slaves to him. 

Madness had been given its time. Now it was cruelty's turn. 

Grinning more wickedly now, the Joker and Harley pulled open the curtain. The grim outline of a laboratory emerged from the darkness beyond. The scene literally looked like something out of Frankenstein. Large tubes, wires, and panels flooded with gears and buttons framed the outer edge of the room. In the center, a massive metal operating table sat tilted at an angle, its bottom edge barely brushing the ground. Most of the slab was engulfed in darkness, but from where Batman was he could make out a small figure strapped to it---a figure that, although wearing a miniature rendition of the Joker's outfit, looked very familiar.... 

"....No...." 

--------------------

J'onn suddenly gasped, halting dead in midair as a convulsive stab of pain raced through his skull. He raised a hand to his head in a reflexive motion, trying to smother it beneath desperate fingers. The agony crescendoed. Patches of white began to engulf areas of his vision. 

Unable to concentrate on flying or fighting, he was forced to land on the ground. Flashes of colors danced before his eyes so brilliantly that they felt as if they were burning themselves into his retinas. As a wave of nausea took him, his psychic powers slipped from his control, flailing violently in an attempt to lash out at the threat. It was fortunate J'onn was a good distance from the fight. Had any of his teammates been within range, his aggressive defense mechanism could have very well rendered any one of them brain dead. Unfortunately, for all their attempts J'onn's powers found no one to attack, no mind nearby to punish. After only seconds of resistance, the burden to function became too great, and they buckled underneath the weight of the terrible pain. Fear gripped him. Centuries of evolutionary programming, however dusty, could not be repressed, and J'onn's instincts were screaming at him that he had left his delicate psychic core wide open to attack. Of course, the idea was ludicrous. His species was dead. There wasn't any person or thing that could possibly front a psychic assault like this, here or anywhere else. 

It wasn't until then that J'onn slowly became aware of a will within him, a personality, that was not his own. An icy blade of terror skewered his heart. 

The impossible had just happened. 

--------------------

With the press of a button in the Joker's hand, the table rolled forward. "He needed a little molding of course" he sighed. "What kid doesn't. But in time we came to love him as our own. Say hello, Jay Jay." 

The figure on the table moved its head in the shadows towards Batman. Its manic eyes seemed to gleam like headlights, slicing through the choking darkness. It flashed a smile of pure white teeth and then leapt off the table into the light. 

To call it Tim Drake would have been a perversion. Not even a shred of Robin remained within the crazed shell of the child that now stood before Bruce Wayne. All that was left was a contorted serpent of a boy, hunched over on himself, laughing emptily with spastic, curled fingers. He glanced behind him to the Joker ardently, like a son to a father, and that's when Bruce snapped. 

Enraged, Batman pushed at the fabric binding his arms. The rope broke free underneath the strain, fluttering off of him in shreds. The world fell away. In an endless sea of darkness there were only two things: silence, and a single shaft of light centered on his enemy. Life was so clear staring through that tunnel. The Joker was there, he had a knife in his hand, and he wanted to see it embedded six inches into that bastard's skull. 

The weapon left Batman's fingers without the aid of even a conscious thought. Thirty years of experience propelled it forward. One moment of human weakness kept it true. 

Unfortunately, the Joker had been paying more attention during his storytelling than he'd let on. Smiling, pleased with himself, he ducked smoothly underneath the knife and beckoned with his fingers. _Come get me._

Batman was already on his feet. 

--------------------

Hawkgirl skid to a stop in midair with a shout as the child suddenly formed into a massive column of rock and shot itself directly towards her. With a powerful heave of her muscular wings, she managed to just barely angle her body out of the way. Even so, Clayface's doughy body, now as hard as stone, caught her viciously on the shoulder. With an angered cry her mace flung out of her hand and went crashing into a building several hundred feet away. As she teetered in the air to regain her balance, Flash and Wonder Woman rushed Clayface. Green Lantern began to fly to her side but she shot him a look that convinced him to place the fight first. Screaming her patented war cry, Hawkgirl dove back into the fray with nothing but her fists to deal out punishment. 

Clayface gave a cruel laugh in response to the challenge and reared up to his full height, revealing his true form. He looked very much like a gooey pile of cookie dough with a jack-o'-lantern for a head. His jagged teeth dripped down onto his lower jaw like melting icicles, and his black, beady eyes shone viciously within his face. Several thick tentacles shot out from his body and immediately began flailing in the air like the death-throws of an octopus. The thick goo was strong enough to smash holes in solid concrete if Clayface willed it to. Breaking bones was nothing more than child's play. 

"I've had just about enough of this!" Green Lantern shouted as he slammed the villain with a mallet formed by his ring. "Isn't this Batman's department?!" The goo buckled under the weight of the blow and attempted to wrap around his head in a smothering trick Clayface was particularly fond of. Lantern dodged. 

Wonder Woman flew in from above and landed a sturdy punch to the monster's face, causing the eyes to cave in on themselves. A pain-filled shriek soon followed. "Just pay attention! I'm sick of this wild goose chase." She met a swinging tentacle aiming for her back with a solid punch. The goo gave way and then trapped her fist within its folds, forcing her to kick it to release her hand. 

Flash was busy throwing a flurry of punches into Clayface's column-like feet. "Try shocking him!" he called out to no one in particular. "That's how Bats beat him the first time!" 

Above him Hawkgirl performed a daring somersault in the air and kicked at a nearby blob. "No he didn't" she called back. "He froze him!" 

"No way! The first time he used electricity!" 

"Stop being stupid, Flash! He used ice!" 

"Electricity!" 

"ICE!" 

"Flash! Look out!" Diana's warning came to late. With a massive swing of his arm, Clayface caught Flash square in the side and sent him smashing into the face of a building. A generous hole was left where the speedster contacted the heavy brick. Quickly, Wonder Woman rushed to cover him while he regained his bearings. She was lucky that Green Lantern beat her to it. If he hadn't, she never would have looked away and spotted J'onn. 

--------------------

Batman walked carefully among the rows of empty desks. He had chased the Joker deeper into the asylum before finally losing him. He was now standing in some sort of lecture hall that was probably built for the medical students that used to study here. An image of Tim sat burned in his mind's eye. The boy now looked and acted like a miniature Joker, all the way down to the mindless grin. It was as if he had been stripped of his identity and forced into a new one. 

Batman clenched a fist. Whatever the Joker had done he was going to pay dearly. 

"What's the matter, Batman?" the Joker taunted from above. The cement made his voice echo around the room, making it difficult to determine where he was. "No witty comeback? No threat? Then I'll provide the narration." 

Batman's eyes narrowed as the lights suddenly flicked off and he heard a series of clicks. From somewhere in the room an ancient projector sputtered to life. Glancing up, he could see a black and white movie beginning to role on a screen just above him. A jovially scrawled sign held before the camera read "Our Family Memories." 

Years of training with the best martial artists and criminal strategists in the world had given Batman a heightened sense of how best to proceed in questionable situations. The rule was always the same: wait and watch. Providing a gun was not cocked and at the ready, it was never a mistake to gather information before acting. 

"I'll begin with how I peeled back the layers of the boy's mind" the Joker narrated. 

On the screen the soundless movie showed a table full of chemical and medical supplies resting behind a smiling Joker. The camera switched to Tim, struggling against an operating table he was bound to by the wrists and ankles. 

"Oh he bravely tried to fight it at first." 

Smiling broadly, the film Joker removed a pair of massive alligator clamps from beneath the lid of an outdoor grill and clacked them together experimentally. Electricity sparked between the clips' massive metal jaws. 

"You would have been proud to see him so strong." 

The clamps were attached to the metal table, the camera zooming back out to show Tim. Smiling broader than ever, the Joker flicked a switch on one of the nearby consoles. 

The silent film spared Batman from having to listen to Tim scream, though the sight alone was enough to make him pull back in horror. 

"But all too soon the serums and the shocks took their toll" the Joker said with mock sympathy. "And the dear lad began to share such _secrets _with me---secrets that are mine alone to know....Bruce." 

The name echoed in the warehouse like a mournful bell. In that second, Bruce Wayne's entire world turned completely upside down. He had dreamed about this happening. He had even mused over what the name would sound like. He wasn't prepared for the eeriness of it, for the crushing weight of reality that slammed down upon him. The Joker knew. From this point on there would be no salvation. There would be no rests anymore, no sleeping during the day or night, no haven for those he cared about. At no point in the rest of his life would he ever be safe...unless it ended tonight.... 

"It's true, Batsy" the Joker persisted triumphantly from the projection booth above. "I know everything. And kind of like the kid that peeks at his Christmas present, I must to admit it's sadly anticlimactic. Behind all the Sturm and Batarangs you're just a little boy in a play suit cryingfor mommy and daddy. It'd be funny if it weren't so pathetic." The Joker paused. "Oh what the heck, I'll laugh anyway!" 

The sick laughter echoed mercilessly around the cement room, bouncing off of itself to amplify the effect. And with that final push the last of Bruce Wayne's training went right out the window. Coming as close to rage as the Batman had ever gotten, Bruce exploded through the window framing the booth above him like Death himself. Shards of glass and framework spiraled inward as if from an explosion, coating a somewhat surprised Joker in a shower of glittering rain. The villain staggered backwards with his arms flailing to get away from the window. Batman's hands flew to the criminal's collar and before the Joker could blink he was instantly blinded by a savage backhand. A punch soon followed, driving like a jackhammer deep into his gut. He made no effort to fight back, delighting in reducing the Batman to unbridled rage. With one of Batman's powerful fists clenched firmly at his collar, the Joker was lifted clean off the ground by his gaudy purple coat. "If you don't like the movie" he sneered, blood trickling from his mouth, "I've got slides." 

Batman growled and, with the aid of a second hand, viciously flung his nemesis out of the projection booth to the hard concrete below. The Joker bounced off of a metal catwalk, slammed into a wooden crate, and landed stomach-down on a pile of boxes. He groaned more in annoyance than pain and then risked a glance over his shoulder. 

Without thinking, Bruce Wayne wrapped his hand around the Joker's throat and lifted him upright, slamming his back hard into a convenient wall. His grip was so tight he could feel the life-giving pulse beating against his palm. "I'll break you in two" he hissed poisonously. 

The fact that the Joker was not afraid in the slightest was evidence of his insanity, or tribute to his knowledge of the enemy. Paying no mind to the arm pulled back like a pile driver aimed at his face, he grinned. "Batman" he said, speaking as if to an old college roommate. "If you had the guts for _that _kind of fun you would have done it years ago. I, on the other hand...." 

The Joker raised his right hand in an elegant flourish. Batman's eyes instantly flicked toward it, wary of a weapon. He never even saw the knife appear. 

In a flash of silver, the Joker whipped the blade in his left hand across Batman's chest with more finesse than any clown was capable of. He allowed himself a petty moment and dug his wrist deep into the slice. Let him try to cover _that _up tomorrow beneath his suit and tie and goddamned cologne. 

The Dark Knight pulled back with a cry, barely aware that the weapon was raising for another strike. He saw the knife descend in slow motion and then imbed itself deep into his left thigh just above the knee. With a sickening _thwack_, muscle, tendon, and bone gave way underneath the slick blade with a terrible shriek of pain. 

With that final strike on top of so many, Batman fell face forward to the ground below, defeated. 

"You've lost, Batman." 

Bruce heard the Joker's voice float forth from an eerie abyss. He was vaguely aware that the man was kneeling over him, taunting to the very last. Tim stood a few feet away, watching the scene with delighted, maddened eyes. 

"Robin is mine" the Joker cooed. "The last sound you hear will be our laughter." 

Bruce was barely listening. Distantly, he felt a hand grab the cape covering his left shoulder. 

The Joker picked up a gun that had fallen from his jacket during the scuffle and threw it behind him to Tim. "Here you go, sonny boy." 

Bruce felt the Joker pull him from the floor, exposing his chest for a clean shot. He couldn't bring himself to move. It was too much. 

"Make daddy proud" the Joker beamed. He gestured a hand in the direction of Batman's chest. "Deliver the punch line." 

Tim raised the gun, laughing. He pulled the trigger once and a metal rod with a colored _BANG! _banner emerged from the oversized barrel. Bruce knew the second shot would send that rod sinking straight into his heart. He looked up at his former partner...his charge...his family.... 

....his son.... 

Everything hurt. His chest was bleeding, a six inch dagger sat imbedded to the bone of his left knee, the Joker had him by the collar of his neck, and he was left staring straight into the crazed, desperate eyes of yet another person he had failed to save---a child that had trusted him to do what was right. 

A child he had used. 

With effort he managed to speak. His eyes were saddened, pleading. "Tim." 

--------------------

J'onn's second hand went up to clutch his skull. He doubled over on the floor, eyes and teeth screwed tightly shut. Fragments of feelings and thoughts that were not his own flashed through his mind, blinking within the blizzard of splitting agony but refusing to make any kind of picture. He was left helpless, unable to think or see or even breathe. The Martian suddenly had a very unpleasant image of his head exploding like a balloon. A cry escaped his lips. 

Diana had long ago flown to his side. She kept scanning him for physical injury, hopelessly searching for what was wrong. There was nothing. "What's wrong?!" she shouted urgently. "Where are you hit?!" 

Curled in a near-fetal position, J'onn could only manage to hiss out one word. "Pain...." 

--------------------

The gun began to fall in Tim's hands. For the first time, his insane eyes showed a bit of emotion: reluctance. 

"Do it!" the Joker snapped. 

Raising the gun once more Tim closed one eye to aim, tilted, and shot. 

The Joker flew backwards with a startled cry. Somehow, the shot intended for Batman had ended up skewering his heart instead. "That's not funny...." he sputtered, "That's not...." 

With those last words hovering on his lips, the Joker fell to the ground and lay still, never to laugh again. 

Slowly, the gun slipped from Tim's delicate fingers. His laughter seamlessly turned to sobs, the sobs faded away to tears. The child sunk to his knees, large eyes staring off into nothing, and he just cried. 

Bruce seemed to sink with him. His body felt like lead. With a deep sigh he let his head slump against the cold cement. He lay there for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for the adrenaline to empty out of his veins, waiting for the pain in his leg to subside, waiting for the terrible ache in the core of his chest to go away. Waiting for so many things.... 

Barbara had arrived at some point and was at Tim's side, her maternal instincts taking over despite her young age. Bruce could hear her consoling him in the background. 

"It's okay, Tim...it's ok...." 

He had heard those words himself once upon a time. Now, as then, he wanted desperately to believe them. It would be so easy to just sink beneath that hypnotic assurance.... 

_Get up_. 

Bruce's voice echoed vacantly inside his head. He didn't move. He didn't want to move. 

**_GET UP!_**

Clenching his teeth against the pain shooting up his thigh, Batman brought his arms underneath him and dragged himself to his knees---the mighty hero. 

--------------------

The pain finally began to recede. Breathing heavily, J'onn moved to sit up. A wave of nausea kept him from getting any farther than leaning meekly on his elbow. 

Diana had her hands on his shoulders. "Are you all right?" she asked. Her voice sounded odd and J'onn couldn't seem to focus his vision on her. With effort, he waved her away. "I'm fine" he lied smoothly. It was hard to keep his voice from shaking. "Go help the others." 

Nodding, Wonder Woman flew back into the battle. 

Clayface was quickly wearing down. Where once he had seven tentacles slashing around in all directions, now he only had two. A little longer and the Justice League wouldn't have to do anything. He would pass out from exhaustion. 

As Diana flew forward to assist, she could hear Flash and Hawkgirl's ongoing debate. 

"It was electricity!" Flash was arguing. 

Hawgirl slammed a fist into Clayface. "Ice!" she hollered back. 

"All right, you wanna bet?! Twenty bucks says it was shock therapy!" 

"Let's just use them both!" Superman snapped crossly. Before joining in the fight he had taken the liberty of making a quick stop. He now arrived on the scene with Hawgirl's trusty mace in hand. Using only a fraction of his strength, the Man of Steel threw the weapon towards its owner and watched her catch it easily. With barely more than a mutual look, Hawkgirl charged up her mace and Superman took a deep breath. As the other League members hurried to get out of the way, they both rushed Clayface's hulking form and unleashed their attacks, driving both elements deep into the villain's mushy gut. An inhuman shriek pierced the air and then the gooey form began to lose shape. Within seconds all that remained of the mutated criminal was a mud-colored puddle, which Green Lantern wasted no time in containing. 

The threat over, the heroes convened on the ground to form the framework of a group. J'onn fought to keep himself steady on his legs as he moved to join them. They were all out of breath. 

"That was _unacceptable_!" Green Lantern shouted, slicing the air with his hand for emphasis. "An entire hourto catch _one _criminal?!" 

"Clayface is not a normal criminal" Wonder Woman answered patiently. "Besides, none of us know that much about him." 

"Which is my point exactly! I'm getting sick of certain members not pulling their weight around here!" 

"You're wasting your breath" Superman remarked tiredly, walking up with a scowl. "The person you want to talk to isn't here. Besides, Batman usually has a reason for doing the things he does." 

"So you think we should just let this go, then, huh?! Like you let _everything _he does go!" 

Superman squared off against Green Lantern, his already sour mood quickly growing worse. "It's not my responsibility to watch over all of you. I'm not the group's keeper." 

"Could have fooled me." 

"Just cool it!" Flash snapped. They were all tired. They were worn, they were battered, and they were overworked. It was no surprise that they were all in bad moods, even the notoriously buoyant Flash. "What's the big deal?! We beat the guy." 

No one seemed to pay him any attention. In fact, Hawkgirl nearly spoke over him. "I'm with Lantern. Batman answers to the same rules the rest of us do, and I'm just about fed up. That's at least the fifth criminal from Gotham we've put away _on top _of all the usuals." 

"Then you go deal with him" Superman retorted. Without waiting for a reply he took off from the ground to head back to the watchtower--home, for the moment. 

Hawkgirl glanced after him dourly, muttering under her breath. "I would if I knew where to look." 

With that the group broke up to follow Superman back to the Javelin. The others did not fail to notice that Wonder Woman had remained silent after Batman's name was brought up.

* * *

I'm going to try an experiment with this fanfiction. Normally, I wouldn't post anything until I have the entire story finished, but I've decided to try the whole "post the chapters as I finish them" thing. If it works, I'll start doing it for the others collecting dust on my computer. If not, we'll go back to the old way.  
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. As always, I appreciate _any_ feedback, good or bad. Don't be afraid to let me know what you think. 


	2. Chapter 2

First off, I'd like to thank all of the people that reviewed for Chapter 1. I always appreciate feedback on the stuff I do and it makes me feel good that someone's enjoying my stuff.

I'd like to quell one fear right now: -ahem- **This story will be finished.** I feel sorry for a lot of you that post things like "Please write more" in the reviews because it means you, like I, have stumbled across authors that don't finish what they start. You have no need to fear that with me. Now, since I'm going against my normal _modus operandi_ and releasing these chapters as I finish them, I can't promise as to how fast they will be released, but you have absolutely no reason to fear that this tale won't be finished. It will, I promise.

There was some confusion in the responses I got over the incidents in Chapter 1. The scene with Tim and the Joker was taken almost verbatim from the movie; in fact, I actually watched pieces of it repeatedly to get the action right. There were, however, two versions of _The Return of the Joker_ that Warner Bros. released. One is the edited cut, and the other is the unedited cut. The events in Chapter 1 are taken from the unedited version. I meant to put that in the author's notes before but, stupid me, I forgot. -bonk-

Despite what the release dates will tell you, this chapter took me over three months to complete. You can blame every last stinkin' iota of it on J'onn. His portions are what held me back. I must have at least fifteen different versions of this chapter floating on my computer because of him and his stupid complicated . . . complicatedness. So, yeah, today has been declared national 'Kick a Martian' day.

Okay, sorry that was so long but I needed to clear up some stuff. And now, on with the show!

Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah, remember to kick a Martian.

* * *

Chapter 2

No one wanted to talk.

The silence in the Javelin-7 during the flight back to the Watchtower was as uncomfortable as it was total. Green Lantern and Superman were too irritated to strike up any meaningful conversation. Hawkgirl, for reasons still unknown to modern science, sheathed her normally combustible temper and focused her attention solely on driving. J'onn offered little in way of conversation, staring morosely outside the triple-layered windows of the ship, and Wonder Woman knew better than to disrupt the delicate spell of silence that was both choking and saving everyone present. The only one left to break the tension was Flash, and he was busy in the bathroom, completely convinced that he had swallowed some of Clayface.

No one really knew why they were going back. It was still early. With the recent uprising of criminal activity it was almost guaranteed they'd be out on patrol again in another hour. Over the past six weeks they'd each secretly come to resent the whine of the alarm system, calling them yet again to another crisis. It was possible that, somewhere deep in the collective consciousness of the League, returning to the Tower was supposed to somehow finalize their intent on staying there. Of course, no one really believed their luck was going to be that good, but even super heroes were allowed to dream.

Long, dark shadows played across the ample nose of the Javelin-7 as it crept slowly into the loading dock. Everything seemed calm. Though the computers within made sure the Watchtower was never completely silent, there was a certain state of tranquility that came over the fortress when it was vacant. Unfortunately, the "silence" did not last for long. Just as the Javelin's back wheels were clearing the bay doors, a series of crimson lights began playing in circles along the floor. Within seconds, the inevitable, grating shriek of the emergency alarm was ricocheting around the metal room.

"Not again" Flash groaned, staggering out of the bathroom at justthe right moment to deliver his usual, vital commentary.

It stirred up even less of a response than normal. The only movement in the cabin was Hawkgirl's eyebrows as they furrowed in concentration to maneuver the giant ship fully inside the bay. Within seconds, a soft _thunk_ announced that the locking mechanisms on the docking floor had seized the wheels. She reached over to pull up the cause of the emergency on the Javelin's internal computer. "Distress call" she announced to the others. "Looks like its coming from Texas."

Superman nodded stiffly. "Lets go see what it is."

Several minutes later found the heroes standing together around the Tower's primary computer. Only four of the original six passengers from the Javelin now remained. Flash had been sent to the medical bay to make sure his digestive tract could handle breaking down a gelatinous super villain, and J'onn had excused himself without explanation.

By comparative standards, the emergency was a minor one. Apparently, a group of highly organized criminals had thought it wise to stage an assault against the Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas. The Rangers had done a good job of reminding them why it was foolish to agitate Texans with guns, but even their best efforts were not enough to force the criminals to surrender. Their subsequent plea for help that was now blinking insistently on the alert system had actually been piggybacked to the Watchtower. The original call had been sent to the United States National Guard, proving itself yet another tribute to Batman's remarkable and sometimes frightening networking capabilities. None of the heroes said it aloud, but they were all secretly relieved to hear that there were no metas or super villains involved in the incident. It was the first minor emergency the League had received in three days.

"So" Hawkgirl said, looking at the others. "Who do we send?"

This routine was a familiar one. The entire Justice League was rarely present for ninety-percent of the emergencies they received. They had learned early on it was not a good idea to leave the Watchtower unguarded. The mass riot which had included the recent encounter with Clayface had been one of the rare occasions they were all forced to lend a hand. Now that the situation was under control, it was business as usual.

"I'll take it" Superman offered, eager for some time alone. After the incident with the Mad Hatter he needed a few more hours on patrol to convince himself his night hadn't been wasted.

Wonder Woman turned to him. "I'll go with you."

He opened his mouth to object but quickly thought against it. It had been a hard battle getting himself to see the others as teammates rather than more people he needed to protect. He reminded himself it was safer to bring along a second person, even if the situation only appeared to be minor.

"You'll need someone at the computer" Lantern stated gruffly. Without waiting for confirmation, he turned his back and lifted himself off the ground, heading for the Tower's control deck two floors above.

------------------

Green Lantern had never been happy with the way the Justice League was set up. The democratic system that Superman habitually fell back upon was fine for girl scout troops and PTA meetings, but not for an organization burdened with protecting planet Earth. Being military material, both as a Marine and as a member of the Lantern Corps, Stewart believed in the necessity of a dictatorship. In terms of a team, individuality was a poison. It ate away at the backbone holding everything together, leading to disorder and ultimately failure. It was no coincidence that one of the League's enemies, namely Grodd, had already tried to exploit that weakness. Like Lantern, the villainous primate had recognized how easily that issue could change from an annoying problem to a debilitating one.

What Grodd hadn't been counting on, however, was that the League would swallow their overabundant pride and learn from their defeat. It had been a sobering experience for all of them. For the first time they'd seen clearly and painfully the weaknesses that were smoldering beneath their surface, and for the first time, they'd been given a powerful incentive to change.

The hero business was one that tended to breed contempt for the redeeming qualities of humankind. It encouraged mistrust and solitude. It forbade love and, sometimes, emotion. And it carried heavy punishments for those that attempted to cheat the system. In that light, it had been a difficult task training the seven heroes to be a team. Due to his military experience, Lantern had been the natural choice as leader of the project, and even he'd had a hell of a time pulling it off.

Before joining the League, each of the heroes had begun as an army unto themselves. Superman had his city, Wonder Woman had her island; hell, J'onn had a whole damn planet. Working as a team took all of that away. It meant they had to suck it up and deal with second opinions. They had to hear their own self-doubt voiced by their companions. They had to learn to put their egos second and make sacrifices for the good of the whole. But most importantly of all, they had to be able to rush into battle with a curt "Cover me!" and never feel the need to look back and make sure someone was doing it. They had to learn the value of true trust.

Until recently, Lantern would not have been willing to stake a life on the Justice League's trust in one another. Though heroes, they were still fallible, and they'd had their fair share of petty arguments, mistakes, and drama. Now, however, he was sensing that the atmosphere was changing. The Justice League wasn't simply a phrase as it had been for so long--some whimsical idea made in a land of "wouldn't it be nice...." Nor was it about individual heroes saving the world, fighting side by side through some coincidence. It had become something greater than all of them had ever intended. It was something each and every one of them was willing to die to protect. In that aspect, they were all the same, and for the first time in his normally skeptical life, Lantern felt theirs was a trust that would never be broken. The Justice League was a _thing_; a real, tangible force. And it was sure as hell one to be reckoned with.

Or, at least, it was when Batman wasn't holding them back.

With a few hours of mind-numbing monitoring duty in his system, Lantern had cooled off some from the exchange of words in New York--though it didn't mean his opinion had changed in the slightest. He didn't understand why the others couldn't see what was happening to them. As always, Batman's indifference was causing the entire team to suffer. For weeks it had been obvious that there was something amiss with his city, _his _responsibility. While Gotham's crime rates had bottomed to an unprecedented low, crime in the surrounding areas was up nearly thirty percent. The criminals were literally fleeing, choosing instead to wreak mayhem in other parts of Jersey and New York than haunt their hometown. Most of the chaos taking place was relatively minor compared to, say, the Joker planting twenty-five bombs around Las Vegas, but the Justice League was forced to handle them all the same. Things had stopped being about quality a long time ago. Now it was strictly about quantity.

Of course, the argument earlier had not been the first dealing with the Dark Knight--Lantern had made sureof that. Batman's name had surfaced a handful of times before in different situations, usually accompanied by an expletive or two. But no matter how many good points against him there were to be made, there had always been at least one person to defend his behavior, and this time was no different. Though Lantern had argued more than once that the League should enter Gotham and kill the problem at its source, his opinion had been met with stern resistance, most notably from Superman. How anyone could defend Batman still escaped him. He could never respect someone that pulled shit like this.

"How's it going?"

Lantern's rather productive session of brooding was suddenly interrupted by a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned to give Hawkgirl a quick look of acknowledgment. "You mean other than the fact that I hate computers?"

"Yes. Unless you're going to tell me you forgot what you volunteered for."

He ignored her tone. He wasn't much in the mood to joke. "Quiet, for once. Superman and Wonder Woman took care of the bank situation in record time. They split off after that." He tilted his head towards the right, indicating an area in the upper right-hand corner of the security control board that showed the status and global position of the League communicators.

Contained within a specially shaded box were seven bars, each accompanied by two lights--one green and one orange. Three orange lights were lit on the console. J'onn, Flash, and Hawkgirl had their communicators on standby, powered but not transmitting. Three lights separate from those were illuminated green. Superman, Wonder Woman, and, of course, Lantern all had their communicators on and fully active. The yellow bars to the right of each one indicated the strength of their respective signals. The final box was completely dark.

"Superman's in Europe, taking care of a few minor calls that came in" Lantern continued. "Wonder Woman's out in California, here." He pointed to a green, glowing dot moving slowly along a radar screen above the communicator panel. "They're both on their way back."

Satisfied with the report, Hawkgirl settled herself into a nearby chair. Her wings rustled softly as they folded into a neat cross behind her back. "Still busy, I see."

"More so than usual, though that's to be expected."

Hawkgirl did not take the bait on Lantern's obvious invitation to argue. She knew what was bothering him. There was no need to go over it again.

Her eyes lifted from the small, green-tinted radar screen to the rest of the computer. Bent in an "L" shape that followed the curvature of the floor, the Global Security System, or GSS, was responsible for monitoring all activity on the planet Earth. The readouts displayed upon its impressive collection of over twenty screens were taken from all areas of the world. It had direct links to numerous satellite feeds which included those belonging to the United States Central Intelligence Agency and the UN Headquarters in New York. With access to the Internet and television, it was, in essence, a technological arsenal of data that many governments would have envied. In an emergency, the GSS could also serve as a temporary override for the Watchtower's propulsion and defense systems, even though the main computers for those were located on another level.

All in all, it was an impressive piece of machinery that required very little attention. The system was almost completely self-sufficient. Every few seconds it would automatically update itself, displaying the readouts across its numerous screens. Barring any emergencies its intelligence programming recognized, the data would be recorded and then compressed for long-term storage. If a threat was detected in the process, the system would automatically alert the League on their communicators. Unfortunately, it would send them everything, from minor floods to mass-scale riots. When possible it was easier to have a person at the controls who could sift through the emergencies and prioritize them accordingly. For now, that was Lantern's job.

Stewart's eyes flicked to the left. A weather update was flashing insistently for an acknowledgment of a tornado warning. He touched the screen to make it stop. "How's Flash?"

He knew Hawkgirl had been helping the speedster in the medical bay. He had been watching them on the video feeds on the upper half of the computer.

"He's fine" came the casual reply, accompanied by a casual wave of the hand. "Give him some caffeine and sugar and he'll bounce back."

"Don't knock it, Wings. It's the best cure there is."

Both heroes turned to see Flash standing at the end of the platform. At the sight of the latte in his hands, the two couldn't help but share an amused look. Flash didn't notice.

"Anything exciting happen up here?" he asked.

"Not really." Lantern went through his explanation of the past few hours again, trimming it down at the edges to hold Flash's limited attention.

The speedster listened in between the eternity it took for the twenty monitors before him to change pictures. Halfway through the abridged recap, he stepped forward towards the computer, his attention piqued by something he saw. "Hey, what's up with J'onn?"

Lantern stopped talking and followed his gaze. One of the monitors on the top row had switched to a view of level 5, the observation deck. It was, by far, one of the simplest rooms in the Tower. Located at the very top of the space station, it was a bare, perfectly circular room with a glass window making up the wall. J'onn was standing on the left half of the small room, his face five inches from the glass, just looking out into nothing.

"He looks all _spacey_" the speedster observed, wiggling the fingers on his free hand for emphasis. His expression turned concerned. Flash tended to have a childish air about him that permeated into every aspect of his personality. His pure, innocent habit of following his feelings was one of the reasons he often served as the Justice League's conscience. "You know, come to think of it, I saw him go down earlier when we were fighting the human Play-Doh factory. You think he got hit? He seemed okay after, but...maybe someone should check on him."

Hawkgirl didn't miss a beat. "No. Leave him alone. If he's up there by himself, then he obviously wants some privacy." She smirked, "Besides, if we were going to send someone, it wouldn't be you."

Flash widened his eyes at her suggestively. "Maybe it's not me he's trying to stay away from."

------------------

_Voices...a presence near him...something old, familiar...feelings that weren't his own...an explosion of power...hate, rage, sorrow...._

_....Nothing...._

J'onn took a deep breath, trying to quell the uneasiness within him. The images were still fresh in his memory, fragments of a puzzle he couldn't even begin to solve. They almost seemed to be burned into his mind, permanently etched somehow onto the very strands of his consciousness.

He was afraid.

As he stood now, secluded in the Justice League Watchtower, he knew he was a danger to his teammates. The others didn't know, but the vicious assault in the subway had put them all at a terrible risk. He had been paralyzed, beyond able to control his own powers. If they had accidentally gotten in his way...he didn't want to think what could have happened.

Every second that went by held the potential for another episode, and J'onn knew that, next time, things might not turn out as well. Instead of a light case of nausea and a splitting migraine, he could open his eyes to find the others dead, and someone like Morgaine LeFey smiling down at him, victorious. He would rather die a thousand deaths than let that _ever_ happenagain. But what could he do?

He had tried meditating, meticulously combing through every level of his consciousness, literally turning himself inside out. The exercises involved had been probes. They allowed him to peer into his own consciousness and check for anything unusual, much like examining a wound. What he had found was astonishing.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There was no trace that his barrier had been breached. No damage to himself internally or externally. Not even a hint that anything was awry. He knew he hadn't imagined it. The images he had seen were still in his memory, and the headaches had picked up again, though now they seemed more subdued. Living with his abilities in this naive world had taught J'onn to recognize his own thoughts well, and he knew that the sensations, the feelings, whatever he had been sent, were not his own. In and of itself, such a phenomenon was not uncommon. After all, he was more than accustomed to "hearing" what those around him were thinking. It was the fact that he had actually _felt_ these...thoughts that had him so alarmed.

J'onn was...stunned. He had never felt a will forced on him like this before. Because of their protective barriers, Martians were incapable of mentally communicating with one another unless their minds were connected, their shields entwined in bonds of love or friendship. Even then, since the bond--and therefore the trust--between the two individuals was mutual, no force was required in speaking. The two minds were simply one. What one knew, the other knew and vice versa.

But this...was _this _what those around him experienced when he spoke with them telepathically? Was _this_ what his powers did to the delicate human psyche? The colors? The pain?

Not for the first time, his thoughts fell back to an earlier point in his life, when he had first arrived on Earth and discovered his ability to penetrate the minds of those around him without a second thought. He remembered how he had battled with himself for days, trying to stop the terrible intrusion that was considered an atrocious crime to his people. He had been on a mission then, to warn the humans of the impending alien invasion that had claimed his people, his planet. But even as he had been captured and imprisoned, J'onn had struggled to harness his powers, refusing to encroach upon the humans' vulnerable minds. It was only when he realized his captors would not listen to his warnings that he was forced to overstep his morals and establish telepathic contact. The moment he had made the decision to contact Superman, J'onn remembered he had promised himself his transgressions would only be temporary.

Apparently, he had lost sight of that vow somewhere along the way.

He rubbed his fingers against his right temple, forcing down an acrid stab of guilt. He was exhausted. His psychic abilities had been needed more than usual as of late, and he'd had very little opportunities to recuperate. One side of him wondered if that was the explanation. Could he have taxed his powers to such a limit that they were trying to force him to rest?

It sounded good, but J'onn couldn't make himself believe it. There had been something conscious about what had happened. He could feel it stirring insistently at the back of his mind. Deep within, he couldn't help but think he _had _experienced something like this before, somewhere.

Furrowing his nearly-invisible brows, J'onn mustered up as much concentration as he could and tried to remember....

------------------

The sun beat down mercilessly upon the surface of Mars, catching several crystals of sand in its light. The landscape it illuminated, like most of the planet, was little more than desert. Red sand dunes patched with rocks rose and fell against the horizon like gentle waves. Scraps of vegetation peeked up intermittently from beneath the ocean of silt. At one time, this vast plane located a few miles outside the Martian city of _Dra'aines_had been used as a place for festivals and tournaments. After the war had started, it was used to train soldiers. Now, it was home to the executioner of the Martian race: the Imperium.

A lone figure emerged from the mouth of an enormous, dank tunnel, choking and coughing as he blindly staggered away from the entrance. His green skin glimmered in the newfound light beneath a thick coat of sweat. Dirt and black soot caked every inch of his body not already claimed by the perspiration. With a strangled croak, J'onn J'onzz brought a hand up to the left side of his face and yanked off the mask protecting him from the fumes. His eyes snapped backwards towards the tunnel, the heat of battle still in them. It took several minutes for him to remember that the enemy could not retaliate. He had checked the nest himself. For the next week, the only thing emerging from the underground fortress would be pounds upon pounds of brown smoke as the nerve gas found its way to the surface.

The Imperium's nest had been more heavily fortified than anyone was expecting. Originally, J'onn and his small assault team had planned to reach at least the fourth level of the expansive stronghold before releasing the agent. Though the Martian weapon specialists had taken great care in concocting the nerve gas to be as potent as possible, no one knew how deep the caverns went. They hadn't wanted to risk springing the ambush too close to the surface. If the poison did not reach the Imperium, the enemy attack scheduled for tonight would commence as planned. An army of over one thousand drones would storm _Dra'aines_ and the 300 survivors there would be eradicated in battle, finally wiping the last of the entire Martian civilization out of existence.

J'onn's family would die with them.

Not surprisingly, the desperate mission had almost failed. Swamped with alien drones before even making it to level two, the desperate team had been forced to unleash the gas just fifty yards into the tunnels. Seven soldiers had died before the first bomb was ever thrown. The rest fell at varying points in the skirmish. Looking back, it was a wonder they had emerged victorious at all. Even J'onn, the leader of the assault, had been skeptical until he'd traveled the tunnels and seen the damage for himself. Miraculously, all the drones in the hive were hopelessly paralyzed, frozen solid within their own sanctuary. The team had even gotten the Imperium, and all it had cost them were twelve lives.

A tangible spasm of pain cut through J'onn's heart at the thought of all the brave Martians who lay dead in the tunnels just beneath him. His hand clenched angrily at his side. For all the lives those _monsters_ had taken, it didn't seem right that theyshould still live in defeat where all of his fellows had died in victory. But, of course, he knew there was no other way. The invaders were almost impossible to kill, and his small infantry never would have been able to fight their way to the Imperium on foot.

With a sigh, he brought his eyes up from the ground and pushed the dead out of his thoughts. They had known the mission's dangers before they started, and they had certainly known the risks. Their memories were to be celebrated, not grieved over. After all, they had done it. The war was over! The mission had been desperate, crazy, and almost certainly suicidal, but_ it had succeeded!_

They were free.

J'onn felt a new, vibrant strength rush into his tired body at the sound of that beautiful word. It was as if a weight was suddenly lifted from him, one he hadn't even known he was bearing on his shoulders. The landscape around him literally seemed to transform before his very eyes. He saw everything as he had never seen it before. The feint silhouette of Oenihsis, the smallest moon of Mars, sat ghosted in the blue canopy that made up the beautiful sky. Along the horizon to the north, a line of pointed crags reached up towards the clouds like outstretched fingers. The destruction of war had sawed off the tops of the stone formations, flattening the sharp peaks that would have otherwise made up their claws. Those were the claws of the enemy, broken, smashed, and filed down to nothing so they could never draw Martian blood again. Through nearly a thousand years of trial and hardship, a victor in the gruesome war had finally emerged, winning by a margin of a mere city.

J'onn's thoughts were suddenly interrupted as a blade of pain sliced through his consciousness. He gasped in surprise and staggered on his feet. Within seconds, a void began to open within him, numbing his insides with a foreboding darkness. There was a subtle signature to it, like a scent that he instantly recognized. It was his lifemate, M'yri'ah...she was trying to reach to him along the psychic thread that bound them together. Except something was wrong, he couldn't reach back.

His eyes shifted instinctively to the west where he knew _Dra'aines_lay just over the horizon. A sinister black cloud was hanging unnaturally over the city in the otherwise bright afternoon sky. It shouldn't have made him nervous--in the wake of the invasion, several similar blemishes now covered the once-beautiful skies of Mars--but this time J'onn knew something was not right. He knew because M'yri'ah knew.

His mind telescoped backwards in time, calling forth a single memory from the tide of panic slowly rising within his blood. He was standing again on the crushed debris of what had once been a house, looking down into _Dra'aines_ main square, directly into the ashen faces of his fellow Martians as they waited for him to begin speaking. He remembered picking his family out of the crowd--Myria and their two sons--catching their smiles, drawing strength from them. He had not told them the words of the dying messenger from last night, the one that had dragged himself into to the city with a fatal wound to deliver his urgent words. This would be the first time any living soul heard the news. J'onn had spent all night coming up with an appropriate beginning:

"We have allowed ourselves to fall into a dangerous state of delusion...."

For months, the desperate 300 souls before him had kept the invaders from claiming _Dra'aines_ battle after battle. They had thought it was because their skills of war were improving. In reality, it was because the Imperium was saving them, holding them prisoner within their own city while its minions roamed the planet unchallenged and destroyed the last remaining pockets of life. With the task completed, the Imperium was finally ready to deliver the killing blow. Three brave Martians had died trying to bring the generals the specifics. Only one had arrived alive.

In two days' time, the Imperium would unleash an attack of monstrous proportions on _Dra'aines_, the final obstacle in its long, decimated road to victory. The assault would come at night when the invaders' nocturnal vision was of most use to them. An army of over two thousand drones would surround the city on two sides, and then crush it between them in a mandible maneuver. Once past the defenses, they would ravage the streets like a dreadful plague, killing and destroying anything in their path. Furious with the unexpected resistance the Martians had put up, the Imperium had ordered that not a single life was to be spared.

J'onn remembered looking down into those lifeless faces as they heard the news and seeing nothing but blank, empty stares. It was as if all the emotion had been drained from their hearts. They knew no fear or pain or happiness or sorrow. All they knew was that one day, the invaders would come for them, and they would die as the rest of their race had died: alone and forgotten.

The generals, who were really nothing more than a collection of fighters that had managed to last more than two years in battle, knew they would never survive such an attack. The numbers stacked against them would be nearly seven to one. It had taken them the full two days to formulate a battle strategy, and even then it was so desperate no one really expected it to work. That was one of the reasons J'onn's assault team had been so small. The generals wanted as many lives as they could defending the city.

J'onn suddenly realized he was running. His eyes remained frozen hypnotically on that single spot in the sky. Something about this was not right...had never been right. Those clouds were not supposed to be there.

His mind felt sluggish and heavy, as if it was wading through mud. Something was stopping M'yri'ah from reaching him. She was trying to show him...what? The imperative message hovered just at the edge of his consciousness, but J'onn couldn't seem to grasp it. All the while he ran, eyes locked on those shadowing clouds as if they themselves held the answer he was missing. Then, in mid-stride, the thought broke through with the desperate force of a dying breath.

The Imperium had planned it all.

No Martian spy had _ever _infiltrated the Imperium's forces...ever, and now that the final battle was at hand, and the very fate of Mars hung in the balance, three managed to do it? It was too convenient.

If there was one thing the Imperium had proven in all its years of combat and slaughter, it was that it was a cunning and crafty being. J'onn's guerrilla strike against it had depended on the fact that, in preparing for an assault, the drones would all be in one collective place, making them easy to destroy. Now, he understood that the Imperium had reached the very same conclusion.

It knew _Dra'aines_was the last obstacle in its way, but it also knew that, were even a handful of Martians to escape, the resistance would linger on. Its only hope for complete conquest was to kill the last members all in one shot. In order to do that, it would need an event that would bring them all together...an event like a battle. So it allowed three Martian spies to penetrate its forces, a feat that had never before happened in the entire course of the war. It fed them the information it wanted its enemies to hear, and then it waited for the news to reach them. With the Martians fully expecting an assault, they'd gather themselves together in their city to prepare. The last few rebels the Imperium had been unable to draw out on its own would flock to the city to assist. It would make them much easier to destroy...especially if the attack came early....

"No!"

J'onn's legs felt like gelatin as he forced them into a breakneck run. His breath pounded heavily in his lungs. The landscape barely registered in his mind as he dashed across the seemingly endless stretch of sand dividing him from his destination. He could feel his powers already extended far ahead of him, reaching to their limit, but he had lost Myria's touch.

The void continued to grow.

It took an eternity for the familiar skyline of _Dra'aines_to come into view. When it did, J'onn wished he had never seen it. Small fires burning among the buildings cast a gentle glow around the city. Putrid smoke drifted up lazily from their centers to join the enormous cloud hovering overhead, shadowing the mangled streets below. As he grew nearer he could see bodies littering the streets; several boasted the pale-white skin of the alien invaders, hundreds more were that of Martians. He was finally close enough to see that most of the buildings were little more than ashes. The fires had been burning for hours, at least.

"NO! M'YRI'AH!"

J'onn reached the outer wall and began weaving his familiar way among the burning wreckage, calling her name. It was so rare for an entire family to survive the wars. He couldn't lose them now! Not when they had won!

"M'YRI'AH!"

The Imperium's plan had been genius, and it had worked, except that it never expected the Martians to strike first. It had no way of knowing its trap would fail to catch a small group of rebels dispatched in the dark hours of the morning to take the fight to the nest.

"Please no."

His pace began to slow. J'onn's powers stretched out all around him, desperately seeking the three psychic strands that were anchored to his very soul. His family was alive somewhere, he just knew it. They had probably taken cover in one of the buildings. He would find them. They would hear him calling and rush to him with shouts of joy, and he would scoop them up in his arms and tell them they were his sun and moon...his universe...his stars....

He turned a corner, taking in the sight of bodies mixed with the smell of smoke, and then the connection clicked.

A sudden, horrified scream echoed in the darkness...his scream.

M'yri'ah hadn't been trying to contact him. She couldn't have been. She was dying.

His senses had tried to warn him, but by the time J'onn got there, they were gone. The psychic bonds that joined them together hung before his sightless eyes like severed limbs. He could feel the three chasms in his soul, gouged out from his being with the violent, untimely removal of his loved ones' links; three places where there should have been life, yet there was nothing. Just an endless, desolate nothing.

The will to exist drained from his body in a single, cruel stroke. Amidst a rotting skeleton of a once great city, J'onn saw himself fall to the ground on his knees and just shriek to the heavens....

The sound changed. Grief became pain. He was standing before the Imperium again, looking deep into that gelatinous mass and hearing its sickening words slither about in his head. The Justice League was in trouble, they needed his help, but he had to stay focused if he wanted to save them. It was the only way.

_What are you hiding?!_

A tentacle shot out and wrapped around his neck. It could have easily tightened, suffocating him to death, but that is not what the Imperium wanted. Instead, it dug its barbs into his skin and made its way up towards his skull. It wanted him to suffer. It wanted to penetrate his psychic shield and tear him apart both from the inside and out. He could feel its sinister will trying hard to rip his very mind asunder, scattering everything that he once was and would ever be. He squirmed and writhed against its grip, fighting, but the thing merely laughed and drew him closer. He felt himself pulled inside it.

He was standing in an alley. At his back, the bright marquee of a theater lit the grimy streets beneath his feet. The Imperium was now a shapeless demon wearing a black trench coat that surrounded its form, writhing like a living thing on its back. Terror filled the air like fog. The demon raised its hand with a high-pitched laugh and then fired a bullet from its gleaming fingertips. J'onn staggered back with a cry as the shot penetrated his heart. Crimson rose petals dripped from the wound, and somewhere in the silence that followed, a string of pearls fell in the darkness.

------------------

"Is there something wrong with J'onn?" Wonder Woman muttered.

Flash shrugged, remembering that a few hours ago he had stood in that same spot and asked the same question. "He's been up there all night. We think he's sleeping...or dreaming...or, you know, whatever it is he does."

The Amazon seemed worried at this. Her eyes came down for a moment.

"I already told him we're leaving" Flash said in an attempt to guess what she was thinking. "Woke him up, I think, but he knows."

"Did he say anything?"

"Nope. Should he have?"

Diana's eyes came away from the computer. "No. Are we ready?"

"You bet. I can't wait to get outta here."

The second half of the night had been much more calm than the first. With only a handful of incidents to take care of, the entire League had been able to return to the Tower early and take care of some much-needed cleaning. There were half-finished database and security checks that needed to be completed, as well as a massive system upgrade they had been putting off for a while. Now, with the approach of morning, it was finally time for them to leave.

During the day most of the League members had other places to be. Unless there was a severe emergency that absolutely could not wait, they usually only occupied the Tower at night, from around 7pm to 6am, usually. To work around their schedules they were each given shifts so one person would not be on watch for more than three nights in a row. Depending on the crime season they would also alter the number of people handling the Watchtower at a time. Usually it was two. Of course, if anyone was particularly bored or couldn't sleep, they were always welcome, and it was not unusual to have one or two extra people show up randomly out of lack of anything better to do. When their shifts were over, they gathered together down in the loading dock to make the journey back to Earth. Flash had once referred to it as the "League carpool service." Though he had been joking at the time, the term was more or less correct. It was to this "carpool" that he and Wonder Woman now walked.

For the second time that night, the loading dock opened before them like an enormous cavern hidden in the smallest of caves. The others were already there, standing in a group more towards the middle. The atmosphere had improved little. Even as Diana approached she could see that there was not much talking going on. On one level, she was surprised. She had been expecting to encounter apprehension and tension after the semi-argument that had taken place earlier. Instead, there was neither. For the most part, everyone was just tired. She could tell that the others were worn and eager to leave the Watchtower. It almost made her feel guilty for having to bring up...."Batman."

It was amazing. Even when he wasn't present, Batman was able to inject discord into the Justice League. Green Lantern's expression soured almost instantly. Superman's more or less followed suit. Diana did not let it discourage her, even as a charged silence settled over the team. She was determined to talk about this now.

"Look" Flash whined. "We're _ten seconds _from going home. Couldn't we talk about this later?"

She turned to him, her eyes and tone firm. "And how long do you propose we wait?"

"Here's an idea: Why don't we just kick Creeps out and be done with it?"

"Can we do that?" Hawkgirl asked. "Technically, he's not even a member in the first place."

Green Lantern gave a snort. "Which was probably his intention all along. No responsibility attached except when he wants it to be."

"That's not important" Diana interrupted. "The circumstances are what they are. What isimportant is that this isn't normal, even for him." Her eyes turned pleadingly to Superman. The message in them was clear: _Help me._

Superman gave a tired sigh. He hated this. Being closer to Batman than anyone else, everyone always turned to him for insight into the man's character. They didn't realize how little he knew. Most of it wasn't even by choice. Bruce wasn't exactly the type of person he'd choose to be friends with. "I can't speak for him" he said carefully.

"Then don't" Lantern muttered.

Superman ignored him, though his eyes turned icy for a fraction of a second. "But I do believe that, if he really needed it, he would ask for our help." He wished he was as sure of himself as he sounded.

"Great!" Flash finished. "Let's go."

More than content to end the conversation there, the others moved away, leaving Superman and Diana standing alone for a few seconds. He looked to her, but her eyes were focused ahead, watching the others. "Are you really that worried about him?" he asked.

"No. I'm worried that no one else is worried."

------------------

It was well known that Batman was not the best of team players. If there was such thing as a super hero report card, his would have read: _moody, uncommunicative, difficult_, and above all else, _does not play well with others._ The other members of the Justice League tended to find him frustrating, for good reason. He only worked on his schedule. He would appear in the Watchtower when he felt like it and expect everyone to work around him. His help had proved invaluable on several occasions, but only Batman decided where and when he would offer it. He constantly remained in the shadows, never sticking his neck out too far, and when one of the others did, he was ready with his usual biting criticisms. And all the while he refused to become a full member of the team, to commit like the rest of them had. It was merely one last insult to those who felt they pulled their fair share. But Batman wasn't like the rest of them, in more ways than one.

It was never brought up, no one ever talked about it, but the fact remained that he was a human amongst giants. With the way the man carried himself, the League tended to forget. They tended to forget that his body couldn't take boom tubes and spatial travel. They tended to forget that he couldn't deflect bullets; that, for him, one shot is all it would take to end his life. They tended to forget that, at times, it was probably a fight just to keep up. The feats that were so natural to the rest of them--flight, speed, strength--he had to somehow match without making it look like it was a struggle. Sometimes, even then, when it came down to the final battle and the game was on the line, he still had to step aside, leaving the others to fight villains like Amazo alone.

Though he never showed it, Diana knew it must have frustrated him...deeply.

The others were angry that Batman continually brushed them off, discarding them as pompously as he tended to discard everyone. But maybe he did it because, deep down, he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. Maybe just as he knew the weaknesses of others, he knew the weaknesses of himself as well. And maybe it was much easier to stay an integral player on the team when he didn't have to run with the giants every single night.

Wonder Woman's eyes narrowed in thought as she flew through the crisp morning sky. The cities of Man passed briskly beneath her, barely registering as she wrestled with the issue on her mind.

A stalemate. That's what this had become. No one had ever had to worry about Batman before. Though he had his fair share of faults, he was also dependable, levelheaded, and one of the few people that brought no personal history to the Justice League's table. In many ways, he served as the backbone of the organization when pieces of it failed. Now that he had withdrawn himself so suddenly and mysteriously, no one knew how to deal with him.

The League knew Batman's attitude towards others butting into his affairs. He was fiercely territorial of his city, and had made it clear on more than one occasion that he didn't like to be bothered personally, either. Not surprisingly, no one was all too eager to approach him. In turn, the League, having good reason to be frustrated with Batman and his attitude, found it easy to write off his behavior as one of his usual eccentricities. And so the state was left, as Wonder Woman saw it, to fester in an unchanging cycle. With her latest failed attempt to stir the others into action, it had become clear to her that if someone didn't do something about it, the stalemate was never going to end.

Spotting her destination emerging in the distance, the Amazon began to slowly lower her altitude and speed.

He'd made a mistake asking her to dance that night. Was he expecting her not to notice? Not to recognize someone that she frequently entrusted her life to? He had assumed his tricks that fooled everyone else would be good enough to fool her--different clothes, a different face, a different voice--but Diana saw through it easily. She had touched Batman. She had smelled him. She had heard him when he was worried and angry, and she had met him that night at the party. But when she confronted him, all she had to offer was a powerful hunch. Batman didn't respect hunches, and so he had brushed her aside, playing on her doubt, however minuscule it may have been.

_I don't know what you're talking about._

Fine. Then she'd do this another way.

She hadn't meant to see it. It was only by chance that she had been nearby, and even more by chance that she had managed to appear at that exact moment. The League had been in Metropolis. They had just defeated one of their numerous foes, and were caught in the few precious seconds of bliss after a victory; before they remembered all the damage that had been done, and all the lives they had failed to save....

_....The rain was falling heavily. Now that the crisis was over it had decided it could finally begin to pour in steady sheets. As always, Batman was separated from the others by quite some distance, occupying his normal place in the shadows. Wonder Woman didn't see him at first. His dark cape and cowl blended almost perfectly with the liquid-like night around him. Then, in the darkness, she caught sight of a moving form and moved towards it. When she grew closer, however, she noticed with some curiosity that he was not alone...._

Lois Lane stepped forward tentatively, eyeing the man she knew so well and yet didn't know at all. The dark figure acknowledged her presence with a barely noticeable inclination of his head. To her, the movement was cold and unflattering. She had no way of knowing that Batman rarely took the time to acknowledge anyone.

"Ms. Lane."

The voice was his and yet not. It seemed as if he had taken a strainer and removed all the humanity from it. There was no hint of compassion, of life, of love or hate. There may as well have been a machine standing there.

"I wanted to...thank you, for saving me." Her voice sounded so quiet against the gentle patter of the rain. She gave a weak smile and looked away. "I'd like to say falling off of buildings isn't a normal thing for me. Too bad I'd be lying."

The humor seemed to chip away at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something flash across the face her mind could construct beneath the mask. It was only for a second, but she clung to that single display of emotion like a life vest in a storm. It was the only proof she had that there was even a person under there.

"You're welcome" he answered, again, automatically.

"I bet you get thank-you's a lot that don't mean anything."

That caused him to pause. When he spoke his voice was softer, more human. "People are always grateful for a second chance."

Lois' eyes drew upwards to his, feeling an almost physical pain as she did so. He had loved her once. And, yes, she had loved him. It had hurt more than anything she had ever felt to let him go, but she knew she wouldn't have been able to change him.

He had betrayed her.

He had let her stumble blindly onto a broken bridge that he _knew _was there, and had been to often enough to know it couldn't be crossed. He had been willing to watch her throw everything away, to stand by idle and silent while she committed her life and heart to a horrible lie. Maybe there were times when he had wanted to tell her, but the fact was: he hadn't. Intended or not, he had been willing to hurt her.

Lois felt her voice catch thickly in her throat. Bruce Wayne had made his choice, and so she had made hers. "Yeah....Too bad sometimes we don't get one."

The memory faded just as Wonder Woman passed over the outskirts of Metropolis. There was no more time for games. She needed straight answers, and there was only one other place she could think to get them.

* * *

I want to know if Hawkgirl has that nasty, acrid bird smell. Anyone who's held a parrot before knows what I'm talking about. That tart, oily scent that comes from their feathers? Her wings are, like, ten times the size of a normal bird. That would be so gross. 

Oh yeah, and, does J'onn's naked Martian form freak anyone else out?

**Fun Notes:**

- I don't know if J'onn was really in command of the small force that took out the Imperium. The episode "Secret Origins" doesn't really make it clear, other than a semi-implied feeling that the mission was more of a community decision rather than being led by a clear, uh, leader. That said, it was too hard referring to it every single time as "the small task force" or "the community led small task force so as not to exclude or ostracize anyone." So, I just made it "J'onn's task force." See? Simple.

- I had no clue how to spell J'onn's wife's name. I searched around on Google a little and found how the DC comics spell it so I just used that.  
Oh, and I made _Dra'aines_ up. For anyone who cares, it's pronounced: dry-en-ess with a tongue roll or something Martian-sounding on the 'r.' ....I tried, okay!  
Do you like my little random apostrophe? It's amazing...to make stuff look Martian, all you have to do is add a bunch of apostrophes. Isn't th'at c'o'o'l?

- No, I don't hate Batman. This is just a quick look at some of the other characters' frustrations.

**Ending Thoughts:**

I actually don't really like how a lot of this chapter came out. My proofreaders (thanks Neptune and Johnny!) had to talk me out of crashing a wrecking ball through several parts of this. In fact, the only reason they got to see it at all was because I was just sick of working on it. I think the main problem was that I had a lot of information to get across and not a lot of space to do it in. That and the new formatting restrictions on don't help much with its readability. Hopefully you guys were able to follow it ok.

And now, on to the next chapter! As I said, don't worry about this fic going unfinished. It won't, but in return I'll have to ask for some patience as I get the chapters written. Hopefully this one didn't disappoint! And remember: **Don't be afraid to tell me what you think, good or bad!**


	3. Chapter 3

-gasp- Can…can it be….? That illusory image on the horizon?! YES! IT IS! IT'S CHAPTER 3!

I would like to thank each and every person that reviewed for chapters 1 and 2. I'm so glad to hear you guys are enjoying the story so far! I'm sorry this took a while to get up. However, you'll notice I did do it in under three months! Eh? Eh?! Not impressed, huh….  
(Oh, P.S. Sorry about all the words in the chapters that are squished together, likethis. I'm not doing that. It's ffnet. They're butchering my word files for some reason.)

For those of you that don't know, I've started a livejournal account that I'm using as a subsidiary to my ffnet account. After a chapter is posted on ffnet, I put all the **behind the scenes **goodies about the chapter up on livejournal. These usually include things such as author commentary, challenges I had, fun facts, etc. (I'm saving all the deleted scenes for the very end.) I also use the livejournal to give you **updates on my progress.** I submit an entry every so often on there telling you guys where I am on the chapter and how it's coming along. It's been running for a couple weeks now but this is the first public announcement I've made of it so most of you probably didn't know it existed. If you like this story and want to learn more about it, or if you want to keep track of the progress on Chapter 4 as well as my other stories, I invite you to head on over and take a look! The URL for the site is under "homepage" on my ffnet profile.

As always, I LOVE to hear what you guys think of my stuff, be it good or bad, so feel free to submit a review. If you don't want to do that, you can send me an email or talk to me in person over IM (both can be found on my ffnet profile; the IM screename is at the bottom.)

And now without further delay, CHAPTER 3!

Disclaimer: Writing for profit is fun and easy! Too bad I don't know how to have fun or follow directions.

* * *

Chapter 3

It was well into the afternoon as Wonder Woman descended upon the heart of Metropolis. Like every other city, it had a feel that one could only experience by setting foot inside it for the first time. Metropolis' could have easily been summed up in one word: shiny. Downtown was a singular beacon of light glinting against the sun in a brilliant display of architectural prowess. Not much ingenuity had gone into the buildings—they were almost all the same cylindrical shape—but the sheer mass of the carefully engineered structures was enough to take the breath away. They stood as monuments against the surrounding scenery, towering over any and all things that dared to stand beside them.

Diana was careful to fly a few hundred feet above the highest skyscrapers, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself. There was no question about it, what she was doing was daring. Showing up in one of man's cities in full battle garb with no emergency present was suspicious. But she was sick and tired of all the secrets and half-truths, the deceptions and mistrust that still, to this very minute, existed between the members of the Justice League. On Amazon everyone was a sister, not only by name, but by how they were treated as well. How far did the others expect to get behaving this way? With secret identities and hidden lives? Green Lantern and Superman talked of 'trust' and 'teamwork,' but their words and actions were two entirely different things. Sometimes, Diana grew so frustrated with the secrecy she just wanted to rip it open with her bare hands, if only to enjoy the satisfying _crunch_ it would make. A family that couldn't trust one another was no family. And a family that turned its back on any one of their members, no matter how deserving they felt he was, was no family either.

Of course, 'not turning your back' sometimes meant doing things that weren't exactly welcomed. Going to the girlfriend was a rather low blow, Diana had to admit, but she was through playing games. Batman wasn't going to talk to her until he understood she was serious. He had brought this upon himself.

Her blue eyes skipped sharply over the scenery unfolding beneath her, taking in the streets filled with cars and pedestrians. As she approached the center of the city, the sidewalks widened out into an expansive circular plaza bordered on all sides with business and cafes. A large fountain in the center shaped like a daffodil spewed water gently into a cerulean blue pond. The rosy cobblestone making up the courtyard gave the scene a pleasant appearance. Lounging throughout the area were dozens of businessmen and women chatting amicably as they took their midmorning breaks. Wonder Woman's gaze passed over them quickly, hovering only long enough to rule them out as the person she was looking for. After assuring herself Lois Lane was not already outside, Diana then began to scan the buildings.

The headquarters for the _Daily Planet_ newspaper was not hard to find. The office was situated practically in the center of Metropolis square, and towered over a good half of those surrounding it. The enormous spinning globe on the top adorned with the company's name in golden letters was also a dead giveaway. Wonder Woman took a few moments to circle the building, carefully noting all the exits and entrances. Once she had them memorized and firmly mapped in her mind, she looked for a suitable perch to monitor them from a safe distance. She chose a smaller office building to the side that allowed her a good view of both the southern and western face of her target. As noon slowly began to creep upon all the diligent workers within the reporting hive, she crouched into a comfortable position and settled herself for the wait.

Had she been the Diana from a few years ago, she would have simply marched straight into that office building in full uniform and escorted Lane out in plain sight. Working with the Justice League had taught her some restraint when it came to her Amazon ways. It wasn't much, but there were a handful of situations where she recognized the necessity of stealth despite her normal impatience with the concept. She would have rather done anything than sit idle on this rooftop for hours on end, but Diana had few alternatives. Unlike some of her fellow heroes, wearing plainclothes would do nothing to help her.

As she watched the countless number of people filter from the far below, she wondered if any of them were heroes themselves passing as normal during the day. The young man laughing easily into his cell phone, could that be the Flash down there? Was that tall executive with the ebony hair really Star Sapphire by night?

Diana never noticed it before, but the Justice League had slipped into a habit of completely ignoring the people behind the masks almost automatically. When working together the heroes _were_ the people. Superman was Superman, the Flash was the Flash and so on. Diana never thought of her teammates returning home after battle, slipping into a suit and tie, and going to work the next day to live among people who knew them as someone else. The idea felt foreign and unnatural to her. Wherever she went she was Wonder Woman, which was the very reason she was now crouched on this roof in hiding. Her identity as a hero and a person was no secret to the public. In fact, the others frequently called her by her first name. She had no desire to hide behind a fake identity. Though she told herself she understood the reasons, deep within it seemed a lot like cowardice.

As she thought about it, though, her situation was not so uncommon among her teammates. After all, Green Lantern freely showed his face both in costume and out, and Diana doubted J'onn or Hawkgirl could pass for normal if they tried. Green skin and wings were not the easiest of attributes to conceal. Superman, Batman, and, she assumed, the Flash were really the only ones who hid in secrecy among their fellow man. Personally, Diana never would have expected any of them to be the type to humble themselves that much to a race that, quite frankly, was beneath them. She knew she wouldn't have.

A figure exiting through the revolving doors snapped her attention back to the street. Leaning forward, she took a moment to double check herself before giving a cursory nod.

_Thank __Hera__ Ms. Lane__ favors that bright purple suit._

She was slightly disappointed to note the reporter wasn't alone. Walking beside her was a tall, dark-haired man in a blue suit that looked to be extremely well-built for a simple journalist. Even if he wasn't present Diana couldn't have engaged Lane in public anyway, it would look too suspicious. But she didn't like the idea of having to wait for him to leave. If Lane and her guest were headed to lunch together, which is what it looked like, that meant it would be a while before Diana could move in. She didn't want to be following these two around all afternoon.

Unfortunately, it looked as if she had little choice. As the pair strolled along the sidewalk towards a small bar and grill, it became increasingly obvious they weren't in a hurry. Thankfully, they chose to sit at a table outside on the patio but it was far too crowded for Diana to get close. The best she could do was another low rooftop next to the establishment. The waiter had just returned from the kitchen, drinks in hand, when Lane made an unexpected dive for the purse in her lap. Apparently she had received a call on her cell phone. Whatever the news, Diana hoped it would get her away from these crowds.

--------------------

"Hello?"

Clark Kent stopped his conversation in mid-sentence as Lois answered her cell phone. In the modern world of portable communications technology it was too taxing to get insulted with every single person lacking in cell phone etiquette. Lois was one of the worst offenders known to man, but Clark wasn't bothered. Nothing about Lois bothered him. Instead he reached for his drink and busied himself with sipping his water while he waited for her to finish.

_"I have a situation."_

Lois recognized the voice immediately as Robert's, one of her fellow reporters from the office. "Why do I get the sinking feeling your 'situation' somehow involves me skipping lunch?" she asked with a telling glance at Clark.

_"The visiting mayors are giving a press conference in forty-five minutes at the courthouse in the White District. I'm scheduled to cover it but I can't make it."_

Lois had heard of the event. In light of the crime wave sweeping New York and New Jersey, the mayors of over six cities caught in the crisis were meeting together to discuss the situation. They had been moving from city to city on a type of 'Reassure the People' campaign. This was their second day in Metropolis.

"A press conference?" Lois groaned. "I think I'm insulted."

_"You usually leap at the chance for stories."_

"I usually leap at the chance for _good _stories, Rob, not press conferences." The last was said with a hint of disgust. "I'm on lunch. Why don't you get Samantha to do it?"

_"She's covering that abortion demonstration over on Fifth."_

"Phillip?"

_"He got shipped to __Iraq__, like, two weeks ago. Remember?"_

"Jack?"

_"Yeah right.__ He couldn't handle a notepad and pencil if it bit him in the ass."_

"So you're telling me there's no one else."

_"Come on, Lois. Please? I'll do anything! It's the high school playoffs and my kid's one of the forwards."_

She sighed. "Okay. Get me the rest of the day off to go on this little errand and you've got yourself a deal."

There was a pause. _"The rest of the day?"_

"I'm hanging up."

_"Okay, okay! The conference'll probably go until four, I'll figure out...something for the last hour. Thanks, Lois. I really appreciate this."_

"Yeah, yeah." She snapped her phone shut. "Well, Smallville" she smiled as she shoved it back in her purse. "Looks like you'll be on the afternoon shift alone today. I just bagged some time off."

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "I heard. What's going on?"

"The press conference downtown. Robert's due to attend but he can't make it so I'm going to cover for him...for a price, of course."

"Of course." Clark checked his watch, "Well, I've got some time on my hands. Care for some company on your trip?"

Lois was already pushing in her chair. She gave him a shrewd glare as she marveled, not for the first time, how he could have so much damn time on his hands. Being extremely competitive, it irked Lois that Clark Kent, the small-town country boy, always seemed to be able to match her success with half the effort. "I guess so." she relented. "Just make sure and keep out of my way."

--------------------

"I can't believe we're doin' this in broad daylight."

Jonathan 'Slim' Marrin was not the most spontaneous of criminals. His knack for selecting ripe opportunities and taking advantage of them were renown throughout the underbelly of Metropolis, but his schemes were the result of months of careful preparation. Needless to say, when mobster Eikens Jr. had approached him and asked for a full-scale heist in less than three weeks, Slim wasn't exactly on board. The fact that it would take place during the day with a few hundred policemen nearby didn't do much to sway him. It was only after Eikens had brought up his connection to the mafia and a certain overdue favor that Slim changed his mind. But even with a mafia-ordered backing, the seasoned strategist knew from the start the heist wasn't going to be easy.

"Relax, Slim" a voice addressed him. "We's gots it all worked out. 'Ju said it jurself: ain't nothin' gonna go wrong."

Tall, gangly, blonde-haired Slim glanced to the front of the van at the speaker, their freckled, zit-faced, red-headed boy of a driver barely reaching into his mid-twenties.

"I said, 'If we do it _right _nothin' will go wrong.'" Slim snapped, giving the boy an annoyed glare. He didn't like the team Eikens had given him to work with. Aside from the constant feeling he was swimming in a tank full of hungry sharks, these mafia personnel seemed to be from the bottom of the barrel. There was one wet-behind-the-ears driver that wouldn't shut up, and two ape-like brutes with more body odor than intelligence. More than once Slim had entertained the thought that Eikens actually _wanted _them to fail, but then he'd catch the heartless glare of one of the men and the thought would pass. Either way, he had little say in the matter. If he wanted to keep his life he had to repay the favor he owed, and if he wanted to do that, he had to play subservient to these moronic stooges.

Slim turned his attention back to the occupants of the van. Cautious by nature, he had taken the liberty of adding one of his own people to the mix without Eikens' knowledge. His choice for the task sat with her back against the doors, keeping her dark Hispanic eyes both on the pedestrians passing outside as well as the occupants within. Slim's sometimes lover, sometimes partner, Sonia Terring was an asset for both him and the job. Known to be nasty with a knife, she was as loyal as they came when there was something in it for her. Together they had pulled off several successful heists together.

As per his instructions, everyone on the team had dressed casually, forgoing the cliché "all black" attire seen so often in the movies. The only exceptions to the rule were the black masks hanging limply around each individual's neck, as well as the gloves Slim had insisted they all wear. Beyond that it was t-shirts and sweatpants all around to allow for mobility. With the equipment set and the team ready, all that was left to do was go over the specifics one last time.

Even Slim had to admit the idea was sheer genius. With the mayors visiting the city Metropolis had thrown all its weight into finding enough security to make sure nothing happened to them during their stay. Nearly half of the police force had been reassigned to oversee the press conference taking place this afternoon, which would only further tax the already thinly-spread law enforcement. This added security drew resources from other areas of the city. But more importantly, it drew the police's attention away from criminal-prone targets. One such target was Metropolis' Natural Museum of History.

Why Eikens, a lowlife mafia slug, would want anything from inside a museum was beyond Slim. All he knew was the police would be so distracted with crowd control for the mayors they wouldn't respond to a call from the museum until it was too late. The only problem: the target was less than one block away from where the conference was going to be held.

"Okay, we gotta do this fast and we gotta do this right" Slim announced to the others, checking his watch. "Once we get inside we go straight for the goods, nothing else."

"Ju don' need tah tell us how's to do our job" one of the brutes slurred, jabbing a menacing finger at Slim. "Ju'se jus' stick to what ju were told tah get 'n keep jer sticky fingers in check."

Slim nodded, though not without an insulted frown. "We'll enter on the south side of the building through the employee door. Once inside, the exhibit will be directly above us in the lobby. We'll have to unhinge two sets of doors to get in since they're too thick to break open, but, if everything goes the way we've practiced, we'll be out and gone before the cops can get there." He turned to the driver. "Just make sure you're ready for us!"

"No prob, Slim Jim. I'll keep th' motor nice 'n warm just for ju."

--------------------

"Despite what has been said to the contrary" the mayor of Metropolis boomed over the crowd, "we want to assure the citizens in each of the involved areas that things are under control. We've already received the aid of over three thousand extra volunteers and feel confident that the crime wave should be contained within the coming weeks." He gave a quick glance to the people behind him on the stage. "And now I believe we're going to open it up for questions."

_Finally _Lois thought, stifling a yawn. _The only thing more boring than hearing one bureaucrat yammering on for an hour is six of them._

The invitation from the mayor was the catalyst needed to turn the reporters gathered at the bottom of the courthouse steps into a sea of shouting hands. Clark and Lois had a hard time staying beside one another as the eager throng pressed inwards. In fighting with the crowd, Lane caught brief flashes of badges and symbols from a plethora of news stations, radios, and newspapers, not all of them from Metropolis. It seemed the surrounding cities were keeping a very close eye on what their government officials intended to do about the crime crisis.

The mayor's reluctant eyes passed slowly around the sea of piranhas before settling on what must have looked like the least of several evils: a woman standing on Lois' left. He pointed to her in acknowledgement.

"What type of relief can the victims of the crimes already _committed_ expect in all of this, mayor?" the woman asked, her voice ringing sharply over the ambient noise in the background.

Lois and Clark as well as several others glanced over in surprise at the speaker's tone. It was obvious the woman had a serious disdain for authority…and for fashion. Her outrageous outfit did everything but audibly scream for attention. The audacious reporter wore a bright yellow, full-length jumpsuit that hung on her _just _tight enough to accent most of the natural curves to her figure. Her hair hung defiantly around her face, cropped short at the shoulder and glaring a fiery red. Lois could almost hear eyes bugging out of their sockets as they took in the unusual outfit. A clearly displayed square patch on the woman's right arm advertised a large number 6 stitched onto a white background. Lane recognized the station instantly as one from New York. Standing behind the woman, a crew of two men held a camera and a microphone sporting the same station symbol. Lois exchanged a mutual glance with Clark. News reporters—it figured.

The mayor answered the question in as few words as possible, looking more than a little annoyed with his poor choice for a first pick. When finished he quickly skipped on to the next hand, choosing a man this time. The questioning continued for exactly fifteen minutes before the presenters decided they were done. Amidst shouts and pleas for "Just one more!" the officials turned their backs on the hungry reporters and filed quickly out of sight. Left with nothing else to feed on, the group slowly began to disperse. Lois shut her notebook closed with a satisfying flick of her wrist as the crowd milled aimlessly around her. Although she hadn't wanted to take this assignment in the first place, she'd gotten some good questions in and had enough to type a decent article. It wouldn't be one of her best but, then again, this wasn't exactly stimulating material. As usual, the mayor had neatly skipped around anything that might have proved juicy.

She glanced around to look for Clark. He was several feet away, conversing with a former Daily Planet reporter that had recently relocated to another newspaper. Lois was about to make her way to speak with them when a familiar voice drifted into her ear.

"These Metropolis bureaucrats sure can talk."

She turned to look at the yellow jumpsuit woman who was busy packing her notes away into a large black leather bag at her feet. The redhead straightened for a moment and shot a playful smirk at Lois. "Too bad they haven't learned how to say anything worthwhile."

Lois returned the grin. "I didn't hear your representative talking much."

"That's 'cause he's an idiot. But you didn't hear that from me." The woman finally turned to face Lois. She grinned, genuine this time, and extended a hand. "April O'Neil, Channel 6 News."

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet." The woman's handshake was a good firm one.

"You look like you enjoyed that as much as I did. You get stuck out here, too?"

"Called in at the last minute."

"Story of my life. I hate going to press conferences. I wouldn't even be here if Vernon hadn't gotten 'sick.'" April bent over once again to pick up some electrical cords from the ground which she expertly began winding in her hands. As she stood the mischievous smile returned to her face. "Of course, I guess one part of me was a little excited. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of some 'Metropolis color,' preferably the flying, heroic kind."

"Giving up?"

"I wish. I'm scheduled to follow these guys around until Tuesday. The next stop's Gotham which is where the authorities should be focusing their attention anyway, in my opinion. Of course, the government there's as crooked as they come." She shrugged, picking up her bag and stuffing the cords inside with one smooth motion. "But, who knows, maybe I'll still get my footage. After all, there are the rumors about the bat man to consider."

Lois felt herself stiffen, as she always did when the name was mentioned. She gave what she hoped sounded like a disbelieving laugh. She'd had a lot of practice delivering her answer ever since...well, ever since him, but sometimes it wasn't easy. "The 'bat man?'" she scoffed. "I'd think coming out of New York you'd be a little more suspicious of urban legends. I've heard enough from your city to start a library. Don't tell me you actually believe in all that stuff?"

The redhead smiled privately to herself as she turned to leave. "Not any more than I believe the rumors about the radioactive samurai turtles living in our sewers."

"Miss O'Niel!"

If their conversation wasn't already over, the frantic voice calling out over the crowd would have stopped it. Lois' reporter instincts kicked in the instant her brain registered the sound. She knew a story when she heard one sprouting from the lungs of an excited citizen. Casually, she drifted closer to listen in to the conversation.

Lois wasn't the only one that caught onto the disturbance. Several eyes also turned, the shout stimulating the crowd of reporters like blood in the water. Lois saw Clark watching as well out of the corner of her eye. Though he was fairly removed from the commotion, she wasn't surprised. She'd learned from past experience he had _fantastic _hearing.

The teen didn't wait for April to ask him anything. Arms flailing wildly, the news poured from his mouth as the pressure of the information became too great for his lips to dam up another second. "There's a robbery in progress just on the next block! The museum! Some idiots were trying to steal something and set off the alarm! They've got themselves holed up in the lobby right now!"

April was off like a shot after 'block.' Lois waited a few seconds more before dashing off herself in case the boy said anything else important. The Natural History Museum was the only one within a block's distance, and she knew of a fortunate shortcut that would get her there faster than most of the herd already darting after O'Niel. A story was a story, and this robbery was indefinitely more exciting than Rob's stupid press conference. She wondered, though, what criminal would be stupid enough to try and rob a museum with the entire police force only a block away.

Lois didn't bother checking to see if Clark was following her as she broke into a run. He could take care of himself. Besides, he always had a habit of disappearing whenever trouble came up, anyway.

--------------------

The robbery had gone well until they actually reached the exhibit hall. It turned out Slim's team had been fed bad information concerning the doors. Considering this was a mafia job, that would undoubtedly lead to death for someone along the road. With only a glance Slim could tell they weren't going to be able to break in with the sparse equipment they'd brought. The hinges were sealed tightly within a separate metal casing, blocking off access to the head of the pin they needed to remove to pull off the doors. So, with time fast clicking against them, the party of four stood in the hallway and wracked their brains for another solution. Ape number one—Slim hadn't bothered to remember a name for him—suggested they try to drill through the wall and locate the electronic wires for the locks. It took a frustratingly large amount of time they could barely afford, but the idea worked...save for the alarm.

The police had the building surrounded faster than anticipated. Caught red-handed, Slim's band of merry men had no choice but to draw their weapons and dig in their heels. Within seconds the operation fell from a quick unnoticed strike to a full-out standoff. Needless to say, Slim was not happy. His party was now clumped together in the immaculate lobby of the museum, scurrying to load their automatic pistols. They were so busy keeping an eye on the increasing number of police cars collecting at the entrance, that they weren't paying any attention to the ceiling.

In a chaotic display of power, the skylight stretching the entire length of the museum lobby suddenly exploded as a figure burst through the glass. Within seconds the criminals were on their feet gaping at the star-studded leotard of Wonder Woman herself. Having never dealt with a super hero before, Sonia and Slim's weapons lowered in uncontained awe. The mafia stooges were much quicker on the uptake.

Ape number two had his pistol up and firing in a furious blur of motion. He barely even stopped to aim as he squeezed off bullets in the general direction of the ceiling. While the gunfire distracted everyone's attention, his fellow mafia cohort took careful aim with his weapon and fired shot after flawless shot at the real target. Wonder Woman had seen the trick used before, but the efficiency of this particular execution warned her these were no ordinary criminals she was dealing with. It was all she could do to keep her wrists moving to block the bullets spiraling towards her body. The metal projectiles _panged _loudly against her enchanted bracelets as she worked to send the deadly projectiles spiraling off in safe directions.

Wonder Woman made blocking bullets look easy, but there was a science to the skill in that she had to calculate where the metal would fly once deflected. Surrounded in this museum by irreplaceable and priceless artifacts, it was impossible for her to keep the bullets away from all of them. She knew she needed to move this fight outside and fast, both to get the criminals into police custody and to save the museum from further torment. The man and woman could wait, she decided. The two muscular men firing at her needed to be dealt with first. Though she hated allowing any criminal to escape, working with Batman had taught Diana it was sometimes more important to deal with the priority threat than the entire situation at once. With that decided, she shot through the air and boldly dove her way through a rain of bullets to reach the gunmen.

Slim and Sonia snapped out of their awed trance the moment they heard bullets whining through the air. Together, they dove for cover behind a large stone pillar supporting one side of the museum's main entryway. Sonia kept an eye out for a chance to escape while Slim calculated where they should run.

"She's going after the brutes!" Sonia shouted over the fire, signaling Slim the time was right. Moving as if they were of one mind, the two scrambled to their feet and dashed further into the museum, away from the fight. After reaching the end of the lobby Slim took the lead, heading left down a series of narrow hallways laden with pictures of dinosaurs for a special exhibit. Having meticulously studied the layout of the museum weeks before the robbery, he was more than prepared to make a quick getaway from the building. Where they would go from there, he had no idea. His main objective at the moment was just to get outside at a point not guarded by the police.

"There!" he barked to his companion. "The stairwell!"

There were too many police outside for them not to have covered all the street-level exits. Slim had recognized almost from the beginning their best way out of this mess was to try and jump to another building from the roof. After only a few minutes of climbing stairs, the access door stood just one flight above their heads. They were almost there.

Slim didn't bother to slow down when he reached the top landing. Bracing his shoulder, he grit his teeth and slammed solidly into the door separating them from freedom. It burst open on rusty hinges allowing sunlight to pour unmercifully into both criminals' eyes. It wasn't until they staggered a few feet into the light that they noticed a long shadow casting itself over the roof.

"Going somewhere?" Superman asked.

--------------------

Lois Lane couldn't help but scream as a body flew through the glass doors of the museum to land in a nasty position on the stairs. Within seconds, Wonder Woman stepped through the hole dragging a second person by the collar of his coat. It took a few moments for the spectators gathered at the museum steps to process the bodies as being two large males, both looking decidedly worse for the wear. They were bleeding and only half-conscious, but they were alive. Strutting forward as if nothing had happened, Wonder Woman gracefully scooped up the thug on the stairs and deposited her two captives before the police. Lois moved quickly through the crowd while the police and spectators were busy showering cheers upon the hero. With her competition distracted, she wanted to snag a good spot right next to the action. The secret to landing the best interviews was to always be on your toes.

After a handful of forceful shoves and muffled apologies, she managed to make her way to the front of the throng. It never failed to amaze her how one flimsy piece of bright yellow police tape was able to hold back an overpowering tide of curiosity. The unwritten societal standard dictated crossing the barrier was forbidden. But Lois had always been one to require such things in writing. She moved fast, hoping to get in at least one question before the security ushered her out. Unfortunately, someone had been watching for her.

"Can I help you, Miss Lane?" an amused voice asked as she straightened from ducking beneath the caution tape.

Lois put on her best smile for Officer Mason. "Just making sure you guys were paying attention."

The two of them went back a few years. Mason had thrown her out of more restricted areas than any other officer on the force. He now stepped forward, gesturing for Lois to head towards a section on the right where the crowd had thinned out. Ever the gentleman, he held the tape up for her so she could step under. "Now I think we've been over this before" he said, only halfway joking "but this is your side of the line."

"I always have trouble with that. How are the wife and kids?"

"They're good, and you're not getting in on the other side. I've got men covering it."

Lois ground her teeth behind her smile. "That's very thorough of you. I hope they pay you extra for the good job you're doing."

"Rest assured they do, Miss." He nodded, "And now if you'll do me a favor and give the fine men and women of law enforcement here some room, I've got a crime scene to attend to."

"Actually, officer" came a third voice from the side. "I was wondering if I could have a moment with Ms. Lane myself."

Mason and Lois turned, their faces a picture of shock as they realized the new speaker was Wonder Woman. The officer did not look pleased to have his authority overridden, but he wasn't about to argue. He held the police tape up again to allow Lois to cross under. He then left the women with a final nod to tend to his own responsibilities.

Wonder Woman turned and began to walk away. Lois followed. When they were a good distance from the crowd and the police alike, they stopped. "I need to speak with you" Wonder Woman said, her voice low in her throat.

Lois suddenly found herself nervous. She didn't like the urgent tone in the woman's words. What was this about? And, come to think of it, how did Wonder Woman know to be in this area at the exact moment of the robbery? Superman usually swept in just in the knick of time, but he lived in this city. What was she doing in Metropolis? "I don't suppose it's for an interview" she muttered, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

The hero scowled for a moment and then seemed to realize Lois was not being serious. She softened, though her voice never lost its authority. "It won't take long. I just have a few questions for you."

"Questions? About what?"

"Someone you know."

--------------------

The two criminals now lying unconscious on the museum roof would never know it, but it was only by chance Superman had run into them when he did. He'd actually been circling the building to determine the best way to enter when his acute hearing had picked up on the sound of gunfire inside. He was about to barrel straight through the roof into the lobby, and then the sound of escaping footsteps caught his attention. He decided instead to descend to the service door and greet them when they arrived.

He always felt sorry for criminals that had never encountered him before. Inevitably, they all attempted to harm him with whatever weapons they had handy—in this case a pistol and a sturdy assault knife. That was understandable. What he didn't get was why, when the metal deflected harmlessly off his chest, the criminals _still _insisted on attacking. Sometimes it took them a good few minutes before they realized the weapon they were hiding behind was neither intimidating him nor doing any harm. He could always tell when they finally figured it out, too, because they all got the same look on their faces. The 'terrified child on Christmas morning' look, as Flash liked to call it. Superman had learned over the years to watch for that look and strike the minute he saw it.

"Sounds like the fight downstairs is taken care of" he muttered to himself as he effortlessly lifted his senseless captives from the ground. Before leaving he took a moment to use his x-ray vision to check the lobby. Aside from the multiple bullets embedded in the walls, it was empty. The police must have taken care of it while he was on the roof. Hopefully none of the criminals had escaped.

As he flew down to the front of the museum, Superman caught sight of an arrest taking place by a red van parked in an alley next to the building. The crook looked to be a kid just barely out of high school. Now he'd be lucky if he got out of prison before he was thirty. An entire life wasted, just like that. Superman's eyes shifted away to scan the activity taking place near the museum entrance. A group of police standing by one of the squad cars seemed an ideal place to drop off his cargo. Calling the name of an officer he recognized, the Man of Steel descended to the pavement and released his captives.

"Where'd you find these two?" Officer Mason asked, perplexed.

"On the roof, though I'm not sure exactly where they were going. They seemed to be running scared by the time I caught up to them."

"Heh, can't say I blame 'em. I'd have been too if I was caught in that lobby with this pair of trigger-happy stooges." The officer gestured behind him to the squad car he was helping to guard. "It looks like we've got a mafia job going on here. These two are part of Eikens' gang."

"I heard the gunfire from the roof" Superman said, "but it stopped before I could get in there. Did we lose anyone?"

"No, thanks to Wonder Woman!" the officer beamed. "Every officer, civilian and criminal accounted for. She was in there before I could even get all my men on the scene. And we might not have caught these two if it weren't for you. I tell you, I don't know what we did to have two heroes on hand when this happened, but I sure am grateful the Justice League keeps an eye on these things. You guys make this world a hell of lot safer."

"Wonder Woman's here?"

"Yeah, right over there, giving Ms. Lois Lane an even bigger head about being able to sneak onto crime scenes."

Superman turned to see Wonder Woman and Lois standing a good distance away from the excitement, talking with their heads bent close.

What was Diana doing here? And what on earth did she need to see Lois about? The League sometimes spoke with civilians, but they were usually contacts in relation to a particular crime. Even then they didn't like doing it often. Case in point: Professor Henry Moss vs. Etrigan the Demon. Lois wasn't a contact for any current criminal activities Superman knew of. He directed his hearing to pick up on their conversation.

"Questions?" he heard Lois ask. She sounded suspicious. "About what?"

"Someone you know."

Someone Lois knew? The only person Wonder Woman would have any reason to speak to Lois about was….

Superman almost gasped out loud. She wouldn't!

"Something wrong?" Officer Mason asked of him.

"No, it's nothing. Would you excuse me?"

--------------------

"Someone you know."

_Batman._

The name leapt to Lois' mind as clearly as if Wonder Woman had said it aloud. She felt a fear that had been steadily collecting over the past several months finally coalesce in her stomach. News of Bruce Wayne had been unusually scarce as of late. Normally the Gotham tabloids made it their particular mission to keep what they thought were careful tabs on the richest, most eligible bachelor in their city. But Lois knew something was wrong when she was unable to pick up any trace of Batman in the news.

The signs were near impossible to spot for someone who wasn't looking for them. As a reporter, Lois saw hundreds of articles pass through her office a day and even she had a hard time picking up on his trail through the media. But every so often a mention of a shadowy figure would come up, or sometimes, if the author was bold, the name would surface. That was how she followed him, unable to stop herself from searching for his death in the news, and worrying about him when she didn't find it. Such was the curse Bruce Wayne had given her.

"Is there somewhere private we can go to talk?" Wonder Woman asked.

Lois barely heard the question. She cleared her throat. "Yes…my apartment."

"Where is it?"

"He'll show you." She nodded to someone over Wonder Woman's shoulder and then called out. "A little late to the party, aren't we?"

Superman didn't answer. Lois could tell instantly he was upset about something. He almost seemed to be glowering at Wonder Woman, who had turned around by this point. Why did the two look so surprised to see each other? It seemed strange. Wisely, Lois decided to stay out of it.

"I just got a call from the watchtower" Superman said carefully, studying Wonder Woman like a hawk. "It's urgent."

Lois had watched enough James Bond films to know the sentence was a cover. It was probably code for something. Normally as a reporter she'd have stayed around to gather some dirt, but this was Superman and she owed him a few. Taking the hint, she walked away before either of them could dismiss her. As she reentered the crowd gathered in the street, she saw all the heads around her turn up in awestruck unison, no doubt watching as the two titans ascended into the sky.

--------------------

J'onn's reflection in the glass stared back at him with its own unblinking gaze as a phantom watching his every move. The Martian remained where he had been for the past sixteen hours, standing alone in the watchtower observatory. Outside the windows the planets and stars sparkled brightly against the ebony void of space, warriors in the darkness. Usually the sight of those intrepid bodies brought comfort to J'onn's mind when the burdens of life became too great. Today they brought nothing but emptiness.

The first thing he remembered upon awakening was Flash apologizing for bothering him. The speedster had apparently come to say it was morning and the others were departing for the day. For a brief, merciful moment J'onn's mind went blank in confusion, giving him just enough time to utter a muffled "Thank you" in Flash's direction. As he felt the wind dissipate from the speedster's departure, that's when he remembered exactly what Flash had interrupted.

Martians did not dream. They did not dream because dreaming required the subconscious mind to wander free of any and all restraints. Given the fact it was the subconscious mind that held a Martian's powers in check, one could see why dreams were unknown to the Martian world. At times, however, they did experience sensations during meditation that could be equated to dreams, random unexpected flashes of memories or visions that their subconscious saw fit to unearth. The fact that J'onn had been seeking answers before descending into his 'dream' told him he was being led somewhere. The only question was, where? And was it someplace he wanted to go?

His head sunk for a moment against the glass.

The vision had been accurate down to the smallest detail. J'onn had forgotten the downfall of Mars, had forgotten everything. When he finally picked himself up from the sand on that horrible day, forgetting was the only way he could go on. After the war was won; after his family's grave was decorated with flowers; after the invaders had been sealed within their prison; after he'd scoured the planet looking for survivors; after J'onn had convinced himself suicide was not the answer, he had made a decision. He decided the final days of the planet Mars were not the way he wanted to remember his family, his life. And so he had finalized what his mind had already done in part, and cast those days into obscurity. J'onn of Mars was laid to rest along with his dynamic, outgoing personality. J'onn J'onzz took his place; the quiet guardian, the loner, the soldier. That was the only J'onn the Justice League ever knew.

_What are you hiding?!_

The Imperium….J'onn didn't know how he could have forgotten it, the feeling as that _thing _had raged at the gates of his psychic shield, trying everything within its power to break him. He should have recognized the sensation in the subway instantly. He had felt it only once before. There was now no doubt in his mind someone had been trying to break through his shield last night. Except, unlike the Imperium, they had succeeded.

It was no small feat. Not even the Imperium had been powerful enough to wield its gifts without physically contacting its target. The requirement was one even the greatest of psychics were restricted to, including Martians. But this new assailant did not seem to be bound by such a rule. Not only had they managed to reach across a great distance, but they also broke through a Martian defense shield _and_ all without raising a single warning. There were only two explanations J'onn could find for what had happened. Either he'd found a creature on Earth more powerful than a Martian, or he was dealing with someone who already had access to his psyche to begin with.

It wasn't possible as far as he knew, but then he couldn't confidently claim it was impossible either. The reality of it was until their destruction, Martians had lived on a planet by themselves with nothing but their own kind. They'd never had friendly contact with another species before. A place like Earth was new territory for his entire race. J'onn had never willingly granted access to his psyche to anyone on this planet, but there was one person who might have gained it for herself: Morgaine LeFey.

The sorceress was a magic-user by trade, not a psychic, which was one of the reasons J'onn had made the mistake he did. The two arts were similar enough on the basic level for him to understand but they had little in common beyond that. Psychic abilities were inherent; magic was a learned science. As such, Morgaine LeFey had a far greater understanding of how J'onn's powers worked than he did of hers.

He never should have attempted to locate her with his abilities. Once he established the link between them, LeFey was simply able to travel back along it, using J'onn's own powers against him as they were supplied. She slipped by his barrier undetected and wove a special pathway through magic that allowed her to do the same in the future. After she was defeated J'onn had gone into hibernation in hopes of destroying her magical pathway. He thought he had succeeded, but somehow the sorceress must have managed to resurrect the old road and was again trying to use him to her ends.

"Then why is she hesitating?" he asked himself.

The Martian psyche was extremely delicate as well as vital. One of the reasons J'onn had such powerful defense mechanisms shielding it was to protect against the damage an invading presence could do. Once someone penetrated his shield he was at their mercy. They could alter memories, disrupt muscle function or bone structure, or worst of all, eviscerate the mind piece by terrible piece. Last night J'onn had been caught completely off guard. LeFey was in the perfect position to inflict damage and yet didn't bother to take the opportunity. She had merely appeared, sent him a few images, and then left. Why? Was she testing him for weaknesses? Flexing her abilities? Perhaps preparing for a future assault to destroy him altogether?

J'onn wasn't about to wait to find out. He still wasn't sure about the rest of his vision—his family's death or the murder beside the theater—but one thing he did know: he had to act fast before LeFey could complete her plans. The watchtower was empty now. There was no longer a danger of harming anyone if he lost control of his powers. It was the perfect opportunity to find that demon and cast her from him forever.

J'onn straightened and relaxed his body, allowing his eyes to slip open into a vacant stare. Within minutes the world began to fade away. He heard the steady rhythm of his own breathing expand into an echoing ocean and pull him beneath its waves. As he descended, he felt his thoughts slipping away from his grasp. He let them go without resisting. Most people would have been surprised at how difficult it was. The mind could not be wiped clean like marker on an erase board. It had too many levels working in too complex a system to just halt. In order to truly clear itself, it had to be gradually eased into a state of suspension—a feat much easier said than done.

It is hard to overcome the natural reflex to think. The mind serves as a weight onto the surrounding world. If nothing is _perceived, _nothing can exist, and therefore thinking is a way to keep oneself anchored to the concept known as "reality." To ask someone to clear their mind is asking them to sever their safety ties; to let go of the wall and float in an endless world where everything is nothing, including themselves. It is a state many are reluctant to readily embrace.

J'onn had long ago gotten used to the sensation. By the time the euphoria fully gripped his mind he was both relaxed and tensed, ready for anything he might find. He shifted the energies swirling around him to keep them as low as possible. The psychic plane was one based more on feel than sight. J'onn had no 'body' in this place. Instead, he was defined by his psychic identity rather than his corporeal one. While presences here could be perceived as a multitude of sensations, they were expressed only in a simple array of colors and sometimes crude lines. J'onn knew it would be easier to pick out foreign energy traces without his own overpowering them. Depending on how far away the target was, the signal could be extremely feint.

Off hand there was nothing out of place he could see, which came as no surprise. J'onn had already done this probing exercise dozens of times since last night. He was hoping this trial would yield different results, especially since now he knew what he was looking for. Moving slowly and carefully, he began sifting through the energies around him, checking each one for any foreign signatures.

An hour passed with no results. Then a second. J'onn lost track of time after that but the surveillance camera set in the ceiling of the observatory did not. The device recorded faithfully as J'onn stood motionless in meditation for most of the day. It watched as little by little, the strength drained from his body, sapped by the psychic energies he was channeling with his mind. As he waited patiently for something, _anything _to show itself, so the camera waited, unerring in its duty. Then, as night was falling over the United States, the camera saw J'onn's hands curl into weak fists at his sides. Something was happening.

A small flicker was all the energy J'onn needed to hone in on the connection. It was so feint he barely felt it, but he was ready. His heart raced as he quickly steeled his defenses in preparation for a fight. Once he leapt across the link there was no telling what was waiting for him. He had to make sure he was prepared for anything. Anchoring his own essence firmly in his ethereal grasp, J'onn seized the strand with his mind and made the leap into that of the enemy.

_A gentle wind blew against his face as he dropped soundlessly to a hard cement surface in the darkness. After giving the area a cursory check, he sidled to the left, deeper into the shadows covering most of the roof. There was a soft mechanical __click_ _at his side while the grapple rope retracted into his hand. Three silent steps forward brought him to the edge. Glancing down, he could see the top of the pale white letters identifying the building he was standing on. The name flashed in his mind even though he could not read the words: _Gotham Hospital.

_Beneath him thousands of sterile windows stared down onto the moistened streets. A light mist had fallen earlier in the evening, coating the black asphalt just enough to make it gleam like obsidian beneath the city lights. His eyes narrowed, sweeping quickly across the windows to mark which ones were lit from the inside and therefore possibly occupied. The room he wanted was on the sixteenth floor, corner window on the east side. He'd asked for it specifically with this nighttime visit in mind. The trick was getting in without being seen._

_Fortunately this hospital was not the most secure building he'd ever broken into, and he'd broken into a lot. With one last check of his surroundings the grapple dropped from his hand and he flung himself over the edge. He bent his body at the apex of the jump and then straightened as he fell, rolling his back when he felt the line begin to tighten. By the time the steel cord snapped taught he was prepared to loosen and then stiffen with it, effectively deadening any whiplash that would have traveled through his body. His boots landed in perfect unison on the concrete column separating the hospital windows. The hard stone softened the sound of his initial contact with the wall. He made no other noise as he quickly loosened his grip on the line and lowered himself to the room he wanted._

_The window was dark. For the first moment in he didn't know how many years, a brief flutter struck at his heart before continuing further. He was nervous. Pulling a device from his belt, he attached it to the window and manipulated the lock open. Effortlessly, he melted into the darkened room as if one with the shadows there._

_Careful footsteps took him to the edge of a hospital bed. A flashlight was already poised and ready in his hand. Deftly, he took the medical chart from where it hung on the metal bars and flipped through it, scanning over the sloppy doctor handwriting. Though their motives were decidedly less immoral, he didn't trust doctors to tell the truth any more than he trusted criminals. He was surprised to find there was nothing written in the files he hadn't already known. Carefully, he returned the clipboard to the exact place and position it had been in before he touched it. His gaze then trailed to the bed._

_The flashlight nearly fell from his grasp. A pair of eyes was staring back at him, ones he had seen before, headlights in the darkness. They hadn't closed since it happened. They lay in bed all day and stared at the ceiling, unmoving, unresponsive. But now they were focused on him, processing...._

_A second, more powerful flutter sprung up in his chest. The eyes widened, drinking in the shadow watching over them, and then they began to scream._

_Pure terror ricocheted off the walls. Within seconds footsteps could be heard in the hallway rushing to room 1655. He took a step backwards, darting eyes to the door. He wanted to stay. He had devoted his life to using this appearance to instill fear, but not like this. He wanted to take the mask off and show him it was okay, there was nothing to be afraid of. But the footsteps were growing closer._

_There wasn't enough time. Spitting a curse, Batman leapt out the window and disappeared._

_Tim's screams followed him into the night._

--------------------

It had been happening for a long time. J'onn would greet the others when they arrived in the watchtower and just somehow know, in one way or another, how they were feeling and what was going on in their lives. He thought it was his natural ability to read people. He knew how much Green Lantern and Hawkgirl cared for one another. He felt the heavy weight of responsibility on Superman's shoulders as he tried to lead fairly. He shared in Diana's longing whenever she thought of home and her exile. Yet all the while he remained unaware his powers were invading their minds, weaving their essences in alongside the phantom strings of his lifemate and children. J'onn now knew he wasn't the victim of the psychic assault.

He was the source.

His first instinct was to deny it, vehemently. He had tried so hard to exist peacefully among other races with his gifts. He was unwilling to accept a failure of this severity. As far as he knew a hybrid link wasn't even physically possible. Intent on proving it, he stretched his powers forth once again. Just as he had searched for M'yri'ah in the last hours of her life, he now sought a different group of signatures across a distance only a psychic link would allow. But part of him already knew what he was going to find.

Wonder Woman, Superman, Green Lantern, Flash, Hawkgirl, Batman....J'onn could feel them all as clearly as if their thoughts were his own. Disgusted, he tried to force the essences away from him, but they moved like smoke, parting only for a moment before rushing back. He sunk weakly against the glass.

Between two Martians such a bond would have been a symbol of utmost friendship and respect. It meant an individual trusted another enough to allow them access to the innermost recesses of their beings. But between two Martians it was a _mutual _process. Against J'onn's powerful gifts no one was ever given a choice. He could walk into the nearest prison this very moment and force anyone he touched to confess everything in their hearts. He could listen in on children's innocent prayers as they prepared to fall asleep. He could drive a human being insane with the slightest direction of will. He could even enslave the minds of the six people he held in highest regard.

In the end, he was no different than the Imperium.

--------------------

"You couldn't let it go, could you?"

Wonder Woman couldn't believe what she was hearing. She and Superman were currently flying away from Metropolis, safely covered by a thick layer of clouds separating them from the ground below. It was around a thousand feet higher than she had bothered to fly when first arriving in the city, but Superman had insisted on it.

"I think letting it go this far is what got us into this mess in the first place" she shot back, frustrated. They were forced to yell at each other to be heard over the wind, but Diana had a feeling even without the wind they would have been yelling anyway.

"What were you thinking? Talking to Lois right in front of the press?"

"Give me some credit, Superman. I wasn't going to say anything there. I was just securing a location to speak with Ms. Lane later. I had things under control."

"In plain view of the public? There must have been a hundred cameras watching you!"

"And? What difference does it make? Let them film until Hates calls them! We make the nine o'clock news at least three times a week, anyway."

"That's not the point, Diana…."

Their conversation broke off as they both pretended to concentrate on landing. Superman had led them to a heavily wooded area a few miles outside of town where he knew they wouldn't be bothered. He sometimes came here by himself when his powers needed a release. Contrary to popular belief, not every criminal provided a sufficiently stimulating workout. And he wasn't the type of person who could just go to the local gym to let off some steam.

He glanced over at Wonder Woman. He knew this wasn't getting him anywhere. The Amazons were a race of courageous women, equally as fierce in battle as they were in their beliefs. Diana's aloof view of the world made it near impossible to sway her from her opinions. The fact that she was royalty didn't help. She was getting better, but it was still sometimes hard for her to think open-mindedly on an issue she already thought she was right about.

"Not everything calls for subtlety, Superman" she said when she was tired of waiting for him to continue. "Sometimes you actually have to take action to get things done."

"Which is fine as long as you're the only one who has to pay the consequences. You could have made Lois a target out there, Diana."

"How so?"

"There were a thousand eyes on you. Lois didn't have anything to do with that crime. She was a random spectator you pulled out of the crowd and chose to have a word with. I could tell you two were speaking on a more-than-official level even without listening in. Someone might just put two and two together and think she's associated with the Justice League."

"That's quite a stretch."

"Big or small, a criminal wouldn't need an excuse to use her against us if he thought it would work."

"No offense, but you and Ms. Lane didn't exactly seem formal yourselves."

"And do you know how many times that's been used against me?! Do you know how many times _her _life has been put on the line because someone was trying to get to me?! Too many. I interact with a hundred people each day who are easier to get to than me, and Superman can't protect all of them, so I've got to make sure and protect them from Superman. That's why we have to be careful about who we draw into this. The criminals we fight aren't stupid, Diana. They know we're people, with family and friends and a dozen reasons to sell our souls just to keep them safe. They're always watching for an easier opening to get through. Some of them know how to get under your skin better than you can imagine."

Wonder Woman shook her head. "I don't see why any of you even bother to have personal relationships at all."

Superman's thoughts trailed to Lantern. "Some of us don't." There was a long, calm silence between them. "Why did you come here, Diana?"

Her eyes met his. "I came to ask about Batman."

"You mean Bruce."

"I wanted to be sure before I did anything."

"You could have come to me."

She recoiled, insulted. "I would _never_ ask you to betray such a trust. Besides, I think everyone has made it clear how much they want to be involved."

Superman opened his mouth to protest but then closed it. "Fair enough."

"I wasn't going to confront Lane in public at all but, with the robbery, I figured I may as well take the opportunity."

"What made you think Lois even knew anything?"

She smiled. "Nice try. I saw Batman talking to her once."

Superman's face darkened. "When?"

"Recently. I could tell she knew him. All I needed to know was whether or not she knew Bruce Wayne."

"You could tell all that just by watching?"

She gave a girlish smile. "We pick up on these things."

"And what things would those be?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

Diana paused for a moment, studying him. "I think if you really want to know" she said carefully, "you'd be better off asking Ms. Lane yourself."

_Women and their damn secrets._ "So you were going to see him?"

Here Diana lost some of her confidence. Her eyes fell to the ground for a moment as she seemed to fish within herself for an answer that wasn't there. "I don't know. To say I wasn't considering it would be a lie. I know where to go...but...I'm not sure I'm welcome there yet."

Superman didn't say anything. He didn't have the heart to tell her she would probably never be welcome.

"Something about this is wrong" she continued. "You have to know it. I don't care how difficult Batman can get; he wouldn't do this without sending any word."

"I don't know about that."

"What if he's in trouble?"

"He's not. You think I would have sat on this if I thought he was?"

"….You know something."

"I thought the situation was a little off in the beginning so I went into Gotham myself."

"When?"

"A few weeks ago. Maybe three or four. I was going to speak with him personally but the closest I could get was cornering a thug he had recently terrorized. The guy was a wreck. Said Batman had hunted him for days looking for information. I asked what he wanted but the guy refused to say hardly anything. All I could figure out was that whatever all this is, it has something to do with the Joker. I let it drop after that. Batman would pursue him into the grave."

"Or someone else's" Diana added. She lapsed into silence for a moment, thinking. "So you think that's all this is?"

"He's clenching down on the city. Probably trying to reestablish control after whatever the Joker did to it. The criminals don't want to be caught in the crackdown so they're moving out where it's safer. Plain and simple." He caught the expression on her face. "....But you don't think so…."

"No. I'm not convinced. I'm going over there and I'm _going_ to get some answers."

"You're really that intent on unearthing this?" he asked, obviously reluctant to hear the answer.

Diana nodded.

He paused, seeming to weigh something on his mind. "Then I think it'll be better if I go."

She immediately grew suspicious. "Why?"

_Because you won't get a word out of him_ he wanted to retort.

You had to be careful when talking to Bruce. It was almost impossible to tell who you were talking to, or what he was really thinking. If you didn't stay on your guard he'd send you away with what you thought were adequate answers, until you got home and realized he hadn't said anything at all.

Superman would have loved to explain himself in detail to Diana, but he was far too exhausted with the whole situation. What he really needed was an answer that would end the debate flat and convince her to drop the subject. After rejecting several mental attempts, he finally decided on:

"It's guy stuff."

Diana's eyes narrowed but there wasn't much she could say. Flash had taken the time early on to give her an entire hour lecture on the meaning of 'guy stuff' and why she should leave it alone. Reluctantly—_very _reluctantly—she relented.

"Don't worry" Superman assured her. "I'll talk to him."

* * *

_"Not any more than I believe the rumors about the radioactive samurai turtles living in our sewers."  
_Ok, I'll admit it. That _entire _section was done _just _so I could fit in that one line. I just, I couldn't help it! Lois Lane, April O'Neil! You _gotta _imagine they'd meet up with one another some time! I absolutely love crossing universes when it's done right, and the line, it was just so, so perfect, I _had _to put it in....Don't judge me!  
(And don't worry, that was just a short cameo for fun. Other than JL/ROTJ, this isn't a crossover fic.)

Remember to check the livejournal account for updates on the stories. I hope you're enjoying the story so far!


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this chapter took so long. After you read, you'll know why.

* * *

Chapter 4

It was cloudy in Gotham. The overbearing storm that had rolled in earlier that week was beginning to dissipate, but at the moment it still hung over the streets, threatening to follow the mist from last night with another. The air was charged with the promise of rain; the fresh yet ominous smell of ozone drifted by with every gentle gust of wind. The absence of the sun made it impossible to even guess what time it was, forcing Clark to check his watch. One-thirteen. He had made good time.

The clouds had offered him sufficient cover almost all the way from Metropolis, which was fortunate, because he'd made the flight in his business suit. Though he didn't like using his powers in the open he had done it often enough to know how to get away with it. When covering long distances flying was really the only way to go.

"We'll go down Ella" a rough Brooklyn voice addressed him. "Less traffic that way."

"That's fine."

He clenched his teeth and braced himself as the cab he was riding in gave a violent lurch to the left, sending it ducking down a shadowy side street. Clark had transferred to a taxi a few miles outside of the city where it was safer to land without anyone seeing him. Riding in cars with other passengers always made him nervous, especially when someone else was at the wheel. Unlike most taxi cab patrons it wasn't the fear of crashing that led him to avoid using the service whenever possible. It was that if they _did _crash, he'd have some very uncomfortable questions to answer when he emerged from the wreckage unscathed. Of course Clark assumed that risk whenever he used public transportation—which was why he didn't take it often—but today he had no choice. The only time he'd ever been to the Wayne building was at night when he could fly directly to the roof. He didn't know Gotham's labyrinth of confusing streets well enough to be able to navigate them on foot, and he couldn't just fly through the center of the city in the middle of the day.

The cab made another swerve, this time accompanied by a string of colorful obscenities from the driver. Clark was forced to fling his arm out to brace himself against the side of the car. It took all of his concentration just to hold himself steady without bending the metal frame with his inhuman strength.

He was beginning to think coming at night would have been easier. After his conversation with Diana yesterday, that had been his initial plan; but the more he had thought about it the more he had realized it probably wouldn't work. Even under normal circumstances you usually didn't find Batman, he found you, and Bruce seemed to be extremely intent on guarding his activities as of late. Personally, Superman had his own string of theories regarding the suspicious behavior. What he'd said to Diana yesterday was no exaggeration. He knew when the Joker was involved there were almost no lengths Batman wouldn't go to in order to restore some shred of safety to the world.

There were very few people who would have understood it. Most heroes took one look at a villain like the Joker, whose only weapon was his own insanity, and immediately underestimated what he was capable of. Supernatural abilities had become so prevalent in the crime fighting world that hardly anyone thought an individual without them could pose a significant threat. Superman was one of the few who knew better than to make that mistake.

Clark had never known what it was like to live without the burden of responsibility. Having lived on Earth almost his entire life, he had never felt estranged from his adopted race, but there had been occasions—especially growing up—where the differences between them had been made more obvious than others. Though he had always made an effort to fit into the humans' world, he'd never lost or forgotten his own unique heritage. Part of this was because of a personal choice. The other was out of necessity.

As a child Clark Kent had never been able to run at full speed or try out for the football team or do any one of a thousand things normal children could. He wasn't allowed to lose his temper. He wasn't allowed to lose control in any way. Like walking in a house of glass, he wasn't able to ever properly release the tension that built up in his body and mind from keeping his powerful abilities locked away. He'd never told this to anyone, but while he did fight crime to aid the greater good, he also did it to satisfy a power inside of him that _needed _release. And in working so hard to protect other people from himself and others, Clark had come to understand human beings both as a foreign race and as his own. As such, he had a great deal of respect for the power of the human spirit.

Any species that could create someone like Adolf Hitler was not one to be taken lightly.

This was not to say Superman wasn't guilty of overlooking such a fact at times. His first encounter with Batman was a good example. He'd been prepared for a dozen reactions when they had first met in a seedy bar on the underbelly of Metropolis several years ago. Being judo-thrown into a table wasn't one of them. After returning the blow with one of his own, Superman had decided to use his x-ray powers to gain an advantage over his opponent. That was how he had learned of Bruce Wayne's dark secret.

To this day Clark still wasn't sure what made him do it. It wasn't in his nature to use his powers to tread on the privacy of others, much less other heroes. Though not all crime fighters saw eye to eye they did share a common unspoken code that governed their interactions—the foremost rule of which was that secret identities were to be respected. It was a professional courtesy so universal it bordered on sacred law; but somehow, when dealing with Batman, upholding those morals just didn't seem as important. That night Clark had stepped over them without a second thought. His advantage, however, had not come without a price. For all his experience with people, knowing the name behind the mask had led him to immediately misjudge his opponent. A skillfully planted tracer was all it took for that mistake to cost him his own identity.

His relationship with Batman had changed little since then. To say they were friends may have been going a bit far, but over the years they'd developed an understanding between them that led to the evolution of a unique respect—a mutual agree to disagree. From the initial few hours of knowing one another they had met on equal ground. That night in the bar was the first time Superman had ever been thrown by a mere human. It was also the first time he'd flattened one into a wall without exactly holding back. Working with Batman over the years had given him an insight into a different breed of criminal that he hadn't known existed—one more subtle and sometimes more dangerous than a metahuman threatening to blow up the Earth. And just as Batman wasn't well-equipped to fight Braniac, Superman knew to leave certain criminals up to the Dark Knight's expertise...which brought him back to the Joker and the situation at hand.

Clark's brows furrowed as his gaze drifted to look out the window of the taxi cab.

Whatever the Joker was up to, it must have been gravely serious to arrest Bruce's attention like this. Clark wasn't exactly sure why he had chosen to cease all contact with the League, but he knew Bruce had a history of being finicky when it came to his own territory. Either way, Batman's time was about up. Everyone had been willing to give him his own space but there was only so long they could drag it out. Wonder Woman was right. Someone needed to find out what was going on. Someone needed to talk to Bruce.

In the end, Superman figured Diana's method was best: surprise him at work. His first effort to track Batman down had already met with failure. He had no reason to believe a second nighttime search would end any differently. But during the day there were only so many places Bruce Wayne could be. He'd be much easier to find...to say nothing of the fact that a confrontation in public had its own set of advantages. For one, the encounter would have to remain calm and controlled for the benefit of the public eye. Bruce wouldn't be able to assume his darker demeanor with hundreds of people watching. He also wouldn't be able to brush the issue aside. With his alter ego miles away he'd be forced to deal with the situation civilly.

"I hope" Clark muttered. Unfortunately, that meant he was also restraining himself to the same rules.

The Wayne building loomed in the distance, its dark exterior perfectly at home amidst the shadows and gargoyles that pervaded Gotham city even in the light.

This was going to be interesting.

------------

"Excuse me?"

Laura Stayler glanced up briefly over her nails. Before her stretched the generous entryway of the Wayne building's forty-second floor. The long pseudo-lobby extended for approximately sixty feet in front of her desk before it ended at the elevators on the opposite side of the room.

Six hallways branched off from the area—four in front of her desk and two behind. Each corridor wound its way past countless offices, leading to the larger cubicle farms on either side of the symmetrical floor. The tan carpeting covering the entire entryway was colored several different shades in a subtle tactic to control traffic onto the floor. A long, dark strip led directly from the elevators to Ms. Stayler's desk, leading first-time visitors to unconsciously head in her direction. Around the strip the color lightened as it branched off into each of the hallways. The man that was now standing over her with a warm smile on his face had, undoubtedly, fallen for the suggestion just as he was supposed to.

Laura didn't give him much of a look. Though surprised he was able to make it past security, she wasn't overly concerned. Other than being fairly tall he didn't look to be anything out of the ordinary—black hair, black tie, gray suit—just another tight-ass businessman who'd probably gotten lost. The college-aged secretary didn't bother to try and hide the nail polish bottle sitting on her desk, much as she didn't try to hide the boredom in her voice. "Can I help you?"

The man nodded to an enormous set of mahogany doors situated directly behind her. "I'd like to see Mr. Wayne, please."

Laura did not look up. "And what did you say your name was again?"

"Clark Kent."

"Well Mr. Kent" she said. "Unless you have an appointment—" her eyes flicked up, "which I doubt—Mr. Wayne is out of his office and is not accepting visitors."

The man nodded and leaned casually on the desk, reaching a hand into the left side of his coat. "That's too bad" he said. A press badge from the _Daily Planet _emerged from the folds of his jacket. "Because, you see, my boss really sent me here to write a story on Mr. Wayne." He glanced down poignantly at her nails. "I'd hate to have to take one back on how hardworking his employees are instead. Your name's Laura, right?"

Clark fought back a smug smile as the girl gave him her full attention now, the nail polish bottle completely forgotten. Within seconds he could tell he was going to win this battle of wills flat out. The girl was unable to keep herself from biting her lip as she tried to think of what to do. He felt a little guilty for putting her in this position. He made a mental note to speak highly of her later so she wouldn't get into too much trouble.

He didn't have long to wait before a broad smile burst forth on the girl's features. Within seconds an innocent glow replaced the bored frown she had been wearing only moments before. Clark was shocked at how suddenly she was able to suppress her horrible attitude beneath a pleasing façade. He wondered a little uneasily if all women were capable of doing that.

"If you'll just have a seat right over there" Laura directed sweetly, "I'll see what I can do." She gestured gracefully with one finely-manicured hand to a miniature lounging area off to Clark's left. He tucked his press badge back into his coat, sheathing his weapon, and gave her his best smile.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

As he made his way towards a large three-person couch set against the left wall between two of the hallways, Clark kept a careful ear on the secretary's motions behind him. He heard her lift the receiver on her desk and place a quick call. A subsequent series of unanswered rings from deep inside Bruce's office told Clark the CEO wasn't there. He didn't bother to pay attention to any more of Laura's activity after that. He just wanted to make sure she wasn't planning on calling security once his back was turned.

As he sat to wait, he idly picked up a newspaper from a nearby coffee table and began thumbing through it. Though the _Daily Planet _was a national newspaper and Gotham's was local, it was always a good idea to check up on the competition now and again. He settled upon reading an article about the recent rise in Gotham crime written by, in his professional opinion, a competent journalist. He had just read the last sentence when he heard the secretary move from her chair. He glanced up just in time to meet her vexed look before she disappeared down the hallway on the left side of Wayne's office. It was then that he heard the conversation.

The nice thing about Superman's hearing was that, unlike J'onn's, it could be directed at will. The human brain—or as close as a Kryptonian's is to one—has the ability to filter information with amazing accuracy. A person can be standing in a crowded room filled with three hundred talking voices and still be able to hold a conversation simply due to the mind's ability to distinguish sound patterns. But even though Superman's hearing was subject to his own control, it was never turned off. His subconscious mind was always scanning the atmosphere, seeking out audible flags it had learned to recognize over time. The sound of a strained voice fighting to keep itself low usually merited a little attention.

The speaker was an older woman, one who commanded a large amount of respect from the sound of it. There was a certain strength and bravado to it that projected an air of expertise. At the moment she sounded frustrated, almost as if the conversation she was currently in was neither new nor going anywhere constructive. Clark already had half an idea as to who she was talking to.

"I'll be honest with you, Bruce—"

"I expect you to be."

"—this is not looking good."

Clark's eyes drifted through the paper in his hands, seeing but not reading the text. "I have faith in you, Jessica" he heard Bruce reply. He could almost hear the woman's jaw tightening in response.

"It has nothing to do with faith. It has to do with my ability to combat the DA which, by the way, is exceedingly hard to do when he seems to have so much more information than I do."

"I've given you everything I know."

"Pardon my French, but bull shit. I've been your lawyer for a long time, Mr. Wayne, and I have never questioned you or your methods, but you have _got_ to work with me. This is not a petty lawsuit. This is an investigation that could potentially lead to _criminal_ charges. I need to know who that child is, where you both were that night, and why the commissioner seems to be so intent on stalling his own department. Yes, I've noticed. And so will a hundred other conspiracy theorists."

"I can only guess as to the commissioner's intentions. And as far as your other questions are concerned, I've already answered those. I don't appreciate having my integrity questioned."

"You're paying me to be on your side. Bare minimum: I'm just doing my job. But I think there's much more to this than you're telling me." She paused for a moment. "I get the feeling your actions weren't criminal, but they _are _suspicious. And as much as I'd like to help you, unless you explain yourself, there's not much I'm going to be able to do."

"Trust me" Bruce said earnestly. "You have everything you need."

"That's not the only issue at hand...Frankly, I'm not sure how long I'm going to be able to keep this under lock and key. The press has a nasty habit of smelling blood in the water with cases like these. Usually my main concern is with leaks from those close to you—coworkers, employees, etcetera. Obviously since this happened away from work we're covered in that area. But the doctors, the lawyers, all the hands this is changing in between...they're becoming increasingly difficult to track."

"Don't worry about those, Jessica" Bruce said. Even through the walls Clark could hear his voice take a distinctively darker tone. "Leave containment to me."

Kent pulled away as their talk skipped on to more menial matters. His mind raced quickly over the information again. Had he heard all that correctly? The DA? Criminal charges? Containment?

His first thought was a scandal. Being relatively low on the corporate ladder, he had little experience in office politics, but he did know that big businesses were falling under increased scrutiny by the public eye. Enron and Arthur Andersen had been more than enough to stir up fear in the economic market. At the same time, there was a foreboding undertone to the conversation he'd just heard that Clark felt but couldn't precisely pin down. It certainly explained why Bruce hadn't been showing up at the tower, but it didn't explain anything about the Joker or the crime waves extending out from Gotham. Were they connected? Or merely coincidence?

He didn't have time to contemplate the answer. The question had no sooner left his mind when he saw Wayne and the lawyer emerge into the lobby on the opposite side of the room. They were still so engaged in conversation that neither of them seemed to see him.

Clark noticed the limp immediately. Bruce was trying hard to hide it. His pants were a size larger than normal to cover up the bulge from the wrap on his thigh. He carried his back a little straighter and walked a little slower, but Clark could see his body instinctively reacting to the injury with every step he took.

Everything about him seemed tired.

His voice was strained, his eyes were dull, even his body looked as if it would have rather not been carrying him upright. It was unlikely anyone else would have noticed it. Even on a good day Bruce's range of emotions was offset from that of most other people's. With him a hesitant hand movement or a misplaced syllable was as telling as a smile or frown on someone else. For the most part the aspects of his persona were fabricated through precise training and control, which made it difficult to discern what was under the surface. But for those who knew what to look for it was possible to find small traces of Batman in Bruce Wayne and vice versa. They shared an inner strength that one came to recognize over time by its feel. Mention a gun around either of them and their reaction was the same. Superman had known them both for a long time, but he had never seen either of them like this.

"We'll talk about the stockholders later" Jessica was saying. A manila folder changed hands. "I take it you'll have that memorized by my next visit."

Wayne opened the file, perusing it with shadowed eyes. "Don't I always?"

She gave him a half-smile and then seemed to soften. "You'll let me know if there's anything else you need..."

"Yes" Bruce replied curtly. "Thank you Ms. Taelson."

The woman nodded and then left, heading briskly for the elevators. At that exact moment the secretary reemerged into the lobby and locked terrified eyes on her employer. Bruce shot her the smallest of glares and then returned his attention to the report in his hands as he moved towards his office. "What are _you_ doing here."

Clark knew instantly the coarse words were directed at him. He should have known Bruce could survey a room without looking up. He glanced to the secretary in silent apology but her eyes were on the floor as she slunk back to her desk. Not bothering to wait for an invitation he knew wouldn't come, Clark followed through the mahogany doors.

The inside of Bruce's office never ceased to amaze him. It was easily the size of a large living room, nearly six times as big as the small desk he worked at every day. Books and manuals of various sorts covered the chestnut shelves lining the room's walls. Though each ledge was stacked to its fullest, nothing looked overflowing or even remotely out of place. It was as if each volume had been carefully selected and placed in order to allow for the maximum space. The walls themselves were decorated with a number of maps containing all types of colored lines and diagrams showing various areas of the United States. A few framed, glass-encased degrees reflected his image back at him as he stopped just inside the room. Mechanical Engineering and Chemistry were two of the names he caught.

"Relax" Kent said reassuringly. He took a moment to shut the doors discretely behind him. "It's just Clark." The statement was a subtle signal. From one alter ego to another he knew the importance of stipulating which level he wanted to interact at. Each name carried its own separate set of rules.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked impatiently.

He shrugged in response, trying to keep the mood light. "I came to see if you wanted to have lunch."

"From four cities away?"

"I have a lot of frequent flier miles."

His attempt at levity was lost before it ever left his lips. "I already ate."

There was a beat of silence. "You knew one of us was going to come eventually, Bruce. You're just trying to get rid of me."

"Then take the hint."

Clark crossed his arms. "All right, look. I came here to talk and I was nice enough to come in plainclothes. Now you can either have lunch with me" he changed his voice, "or you can have lunch with a friend of mine."

He knew that would get some attention. As much as he hated being cross, sometimes force was the only thing Batman understood.

For the first time the papers stopped flipping. Bruce glanced up, eyeing him intensely. "Or I could have you escorted from the building."

"Do you really want to know how that will pan out?" Clark set his jaw. "I'm not leaving. You can ignore me for as long as you want—I can wait all day—but the faster you talk to me, the faster I'll leave." He raised his right hand, the corner of his mouth turning up into a wry smile. "Scout's honor."

There was silence while Bruce searched his face, possibly looking for any signs of a bluff. Apparently he didn't find any. His hand moved to press a button on his nearby phone. "Laura?"

A familiar feminine voice responded over the speaker. "Yes, Mr. Wayne?"

"Cancel that meeting at three o'clock." Stiffly, the CEO stood from his desk and brushed past Clark. He didn't make eye contact as he passed. "We'll go downtown."

------------

Clark wasn't sure how Bruce did it, but by the time they got downstairs a black limousine was already waiting for them on the curb. Alfred was standing towards the back holding the door open.

There was a sorrow to him that was much easier to grasp. The emotions suppressed on Bruce's face played out freely upon Alfred's, particularly in his eyes. As Clark nodded to the butler and received a greeting in return, he couldn't shake the feeling he was descending into something far deeper than what he'd originally anticipated.

The smell of leather was prevalent inside the car. Clark sunk awkwardly into the black sofa-seats lining the interior. As Superman, he'd mingled with the most prestigious people in the world and had been treated to nearly every finery imaginable. But throughout it all there had always been the humble heart of a country boy deep within. Luxury made him uncomfortable. He didn't like the falsity of the rich life and he didn't like being waited on.

Bruce said nothing as he slid into his respective side of the car, facing opposite Clark. Within seconds the doors were closed and the limo eased itself into traffic. Clark noticed Bruce left the glass separating them from the driver closed. It struck him as a little strange that Bruce would leave his butler out of their conversation. Unknown to him, Alfred would hear everything of what was to follow by way of a cleverly disguised series of microphones snaking from the back of the car to the front. The glass was closed not to keep Alfred from hearing, but to keep prying eyes from seeing into the back of the limo through the front windshield.

Everyone knew the lunch routine had merely been a front to get Bruce out of his office. Clark doubted they were driving to anywhere in particular.

"I wouldn't be too hard on your secretary" he ventured after a few moments of silence. "I had to tell a couple of lies to keep her from driving me off. She's probably sitting up there right now thinking you're going to fire her."

"I'll worry about the secretary."

The reply didn't give him much to build on. Bruce may have refrained from killing people, but he was great at killing conversation. It was when Clark caught himself about to comment on the weather that he decided to just get to the point. He wasn't fooling anyone, anyway. "Why haven't you been reporting in?"

"If you've come to chastise me about my participation, I'm not in the mood."

"Believe it or not, that's not why I'm here. I'm actually doing you a favor. If it wasn't for me you'd be dealing with Diana right now. I was, however, hoping for some sort of an explanation. Three months is a long time to go without contact, Bruce—even for you. It either means something's wrong, or you've quit."

"It's neither."

"Then why the cold shoulder?"

"Call it a temporary leave of absence."

Clark's gaze shifted to the window for a moment as a person running frantically along the sidewalk caught his eye. He relaxed when he saw it was just a woman chasing after her child. "I gotta tell you, Bruce, I'm getting tired of dragging you through all this. I'm almost to the point now where if you wanted to leave I wouldn't try to stop you—though I still think it'd be a big mistake. But if you're going to do it I wish you'd make it clear so we can at least anticipate when we're not going to have your help anymore."

He turned his eyes back to meet Bruce's own. They hadn't moved or wavered an inch. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you of the recent crime wave that's gripped the northeast lately. Apparently you've been driving Gotham's criminals into the ground so hard they'd rather take their business elsewhere. That's not exactly an easy situation for the League to handle with one-seventh of the equation missing. I gotta hand it to you: I didn't think it was possible, but you cleaned up Gotham all by yourself in one fail swoop. What I can't understand is why you'd do that and then leave the other cities to fend for themselves."

No answer.

Clark sighed. This was like trying to drag a kid to the dentist. "All right, fine. We'll play this your way, then...I know about the Joker."

"Do you."

The words startled him into a brief silence. He hadn't been expecting what he'd felt in Bruce's voice. There was a bitter depth to it that he had never heard before, not even from Batman. Within seconds of uttering the name a shadow passed over Bruce's face, hardening his eyes. This wasn't the calm persona Clark had come here expecting to deal with. Bruce was controlled enough on the surface, but underneath there seemed to be something volatile slipping through the cracks.

He studied Bruce for a moment and then continued, moving more cautiously now. "I know you've been preoccupied. I think that's why we haven't been hearing from you, and I think he's the reason. I just need to know why."

"I must have missed the part where I was required to explain myself to you."

"You don't. But you do have to explain yourself to the team."

"Yet you're here on their behalf."

"I'm here because Gotham's problems suddenly aren't Gotham's anymore. You can't force the criminals out of your territory to wreak havoc on others and expect not to explain yourself. We had Flash vomiting up goo for a half hour after a battle with Clayface. If you were going to clean Gotham out, you should have at least warned us."

Bruce relaxed his voice, silently resigning to the point. "What's been going on with the criminal activity has nothing to do with any direct efforts on my part. Had I the leisure, I would have pursued them, but they weren't a primary concern."

"Was it that pressing that you couldn't have spared a five-minute call to the Tower?"

"Yes."

Clark didn't like how Bruce said the word. Another weight seemed to stack itself onto the already heavy conversation.

"Cleaning the criminals out wasn't my intent in the first place" Bruce continued. "If anything, I'd rather have them here, in Gotham, where I can keep an eye on them. But unfortunately, sometimes things require a balance. In this case, it was either them or the Joker."

"The Joker was worth _all _those criminals? All that damage?"

"...Yes..."

Again Clark's insides twisted at the word. He hated to think Wonder Woman's paranoia was rubbing off on him, but something obviously was not right. He almost didn't want to ask.

"Bruce...What did the Joker do?"

Another pause stretched between them, but this one was different. Bruce was weighing his options, calculating how much he should say...how much he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke.

"For a long time I didn't know. It was a large-scale operation just trying to uncover his intent. In order to get the information I needed I had to penetrate several of Gotham's crime rings at once—every one he had ever touched. It took a significant amount of time and resources to accomplish. When I finally caught up to him...he wasn't up to what I had been anticipating..."

"It didn't go well."

"No. It didn't."

Clark nodded. The reality of life was a little-considered fact when most people thought of crime fighting. Yes, most of the time confrontations resulted in victory, in the wrong being righted and justice served, but even the cleanest of fights very rarely took place without a price.

Buildings were destroyed. People were hurt. Not everything went according to plan all the time. The aftermath of a battle was often the most overlooked aspect of a hero's career—when they carried themselves home to tend to their wounds and worried over all the people they had hurt in trying to help. It was a lesson learned hard and quickly when entering into the trade. And so Superman nodded and understood without any further explanation.

He began reviewing the events of the last few weeks in his mind. Things were starting to fall into place. If the Joker had a plot underway that Batman wasn't aware of—a potentially dangerous one from the sound of it—it would make sense that he'd spare nothing to figure it out. Gotham's villains were not a bunch to be taken lightly to begin with, but an unpredictable Joker dwarfed most of them as far as being a threat was concerned. Superman still wasn't sure it excused the attitude towards the League, but he understood the reason behind the behavior, if not the behavior itself.

"I'm assuming, then that most of this conversation is moot?" he asked. "Everything's over and taken care of?"

"More than you know. He's dead."

There it was. The axe Clark had been waiting to drop since he first set foot into the car. Had he been prepared for it, the information may have been easier to digest. But hearing it so casually spoken was almost as difficult as imagining a world without the Joker in the first place. He felt his mouth fall open. _This is an investigation that could potentially lead to criminal charges._

"...Bruce...You didn't..."

"No. He was a victim of his own...devices. But he did enough damage to make for a messy cleanup."

"The lawyer..."

Clark was too lost in thought to notice the annoyed look Bruce gave him. Taelson had spoken about the DA...Bruce must have been forced to go to the commissioner and _that's _why the case was stalling. When did it happen? How much had he been forced to tell? Everything? Maybe not. It didn't seem as if Bruce was willing to tell his own lawyer much. She'd been fairly frustrated about his secrecy.

Clark's head then came up as he realized something else. "She was talking about a child...The Joker wouldn't have been interested in just anyone." His stomach suddenly clenched in horror.

"It's Tim...Isn't it?"

The silence told him everything. Clark ran a hand through his hair as he forced his mind to stay clear. "My God, Bruce. Is he—"

He was cut off before he could form the words. "He's alive."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Bruce scowled as he immediately went on the defensive. "Because it's taken care of."

"_Taken care _of! What exactly are we talking about here!"

He couldn't think. He couldn't wrap his mind around this. Clark knew he was losing control of the conversation but he had stopped caring. Bruce sounded like he was referring to a thing rather than a person.

The car suddenly came to a halt, prompting him to glance out the window. He noticed angrily that while Bruce had agreed to talk with him, they had driven straight to the Gotham subway. Clark made no move to get out of the car even as his door was opened. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice pressing as he fought to keep himself in check. "I know you don't like to ask for help, Bruce, but please listen to me. Maybe it's time to think about it. You have six people who are all willing to take _something _off your shoulders. All you have to do is say the word and we'll—"

The reply was much less gracious this time. Bruce had finally lost his patience. "I said it was taken care of" he growled. "And you can tell the others that in your report." His eyes narrowed. "You know the way out."

It took all of Clark's willpower to straighten back up in his seat. He wanted to say a thousand things. He knew none of them would make a difference.

"Fine."

He got out of the car and made a show of adjusting his jacket and tie as he stood. "But I hope for Tim's sake that you know what you're doing" he said idly. With an almost biting edge to his voice, he glared disappointedly at his friend. "We'll just be here when you need us."

With that, Clark Kent gave one last tug at his coat and descended the subway stairs into the turnstiles below.

* * *

I always know I've done a good chapter when it sucks the life out of me. I have literally no energy to write anything down here. 


	5. Chapter 5

As always, thanks to everyone who's reviewed, it really means a lot to me. I _love _hearing what you guys are thinking, good or bad, so don't be shy. Compliments, improvements, and gripes are all gold in my book. As it is, you have Faye Chua to thank for a few paragraphs of this chapter because she found a plothole. --waves at Faye--

And you guys should all sacrifice your first born to my _awesome_ beta reader, Neptune47. She had her beta in my mailbox within hours of me sending it just so you guys could get this chapter as soon as possible. She needs a standing ovation.

Don't forget to check my livejournal account for the extras on this chapter (www . livejournal . com/tools/memories.bml?userlaeladair&keywordExtras&filterall**- no spaces**). There are some author's notes, a few fun facts, and 2 deleted scenes for you guys.

* * *

Chapter 5

"What do you see when you look out there for so long?"

J'onn did not turn around at the voice, nor did he take his eyes from the stars. He had felt her coming.

"I'm not sure anymore."

Wonder Woman moved to stand next to him by the window. He wished she would go away. This was the second nightfall he had seen from his place in the Observatory, and he did not want to come out. Ever.

He could _feel_ her. She was so close her thoughts were intertwining with his own, making it impossible to tell them apart. The others didn't know she was up here. They had agreed to leave J'onn alone until he was ready to come out. But Diana had already made an egregious trespass on privacy once. She saw no harm in doing it again.

"It must be different for you than for me...having lived out there, I mean."

The others were worried, as J'onn had been initially, that what had happened in the subway was an attack of some sort. Diana had gradually come to think otherwise. She had a remarkable perception for Truth that J'onn had never quite been able to explain. She was trying to offer herself as someone to speak to. He felt the trust and concern she held in him and became sick to his stomach.

It had taken a few hours for the shock of it all to wear off, but once it did J'onn realized the connections he shared with his teammates were drastically different from those he had once shared with his Martian family. Each mind was different. Flash and Green Lantern, both being human, were the easiest to read. Their minds spread themselves out before J'onn to reveal a complex web of conscious and subconscious thoughts meshing in a paradox of organized chaos. The layout was quite different from Wonder Woman and Superman, who did not allow such unhindered access. An aura of power seemed to protect the innermost recesses of their minds, allowing J'onn to feel their emotions and thoughts but not their subconscious. Hawkgirl was the only one who was almost entirely protected from him.

Her mind was the greatest enigma of all. J'onn wasn't sure if it was the helmet she was wearing or if it was due to a naturally high barrier of some sort, but he was barely able to access anything. He could only pick up the barest inkling of her thoughts by the emotions she projected. The shades took the form of a feint aura of color around her body since the psychic plane had no physical dimension. Out of everyone, J'onn found her presence to be the most heartening. He had never been more grateful for Hawgirl's stubborn will in his life.

"Diana...May I ask you something?"

The Amazon stopped what she had been saying. J'onn hadn't realized he had interrupted her, but he knew she didn't mind.

"Of course."

"This is a very different world from the one you are accustomed to...Do you ever find, living here, that you have a conflict of morals?"

Diana watched him for a moment, trying to guess why he would ask such a question. Her eyes then drifted down and out of focus. "Man's world is very different from Themescayra" she said slowly. "There are customs and rules here that have taken me a long time to get used to. Some of which I still fail to fathom." She turned her head away for the smallest of moments and J'onn felt a brief sense of shame coming from her. "Do you recall our fight with the Toyman? When we thought Superman was killed?"

"Yes."

"I remember...when I saw Superman engulfed in that enormous barrel of light—saw him evaporate before my eyes—Flash stopped me from killing the Toyman." Her expression grew puzzled. "He said, 'We don't do that to our enemies.' That's something I don't understand. On Themescayra, when one of our sisters is killed, her family is entitled to vengeance. It is our form of justice. But the "justice" practiced here where criminals are taken to the hospital in the very same ambulances as the policemen they shoot—that makes no sense to me. I used to be frustrated by it. Why couldn't anyone just..._see_? And then I realized that it was impossible. The people here didn't know what I did, just as I didn't know what they knew. Eventually, I decided that I couldn't look at this place in terms of my home. The two worlds just don't compare. They each must be viewed separately."

"Did you ever find peace with yourself?"

Diana smiled. "Let's just say, there would be a lot less criminals around if it wasn't for the rest of you." She frowned. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

Her thoughts drifted through him, innocent of the fact that a parasite consciousness was feeding off their existence. "No" he said firmly. Then he softened. "But I do think I would like to keep you company on duty."

------------

The Batcave computer flickered vacantly in the darkness, briefly illuminating a figure in the seat before it. Alfred could see Bruce Wayne reclining in the chair, his right elbow propped on one of the armrests as he held a clenched fist to the top of his lip. The computer was working furiously on the screen but Master Bruce's eyes were not on the data. They had drifted down to the floor, blank and out of focus.

The loyal butler to the Wayne household paused for a moment in the shadows towards the entrance to the cave. He recognized that stance. It was one Master Bruce often assumed when deep in thought. He did not have to guess what was running through his charge's mind, much as he didn't have to guess why Master Bruce was still dressed in plainclothes. For another night in a row, the Batman would not be making an appearance in Gotham.

"I brought you some tea, Master Bruce."

Blue eyes moved briefly to the side, acknowledging the butler, but not looking at him. "Thank you, Alfred."

Alfred sighed inwardly and resigned himself to placing the tray in his hands on a nearby surface.

The tragedy had hit them all hard. The last few days of apprehension over Tim's health had been nothing compared to the weeks of torturous worry everyone in the family had been forced to endure. Master Bruce carried his burdens stubbornly and silently, as always, but Alfred could see the forces working inside of him: anger, guilt, and most of all, doubt. He had seen that look in his charge's eyes before. He had heard every thought now running through Bruce Wayne's mind at one time or another.

It was no secret that Alfred did not entirely approve of Batman's habits. He had seen the danger almost instantly—ever since that night so long ago when the police showed up at the door to Wayne Manor and he saw the look in young Master Bruce's eyes. He understood the reasons. He had tried his best to curb them. But ultimately the choice had not been his to make. There were times he wished he had the power to take the demons plaguing his surrogate son onto himself. But he had known all along that was something he could never do. So he did the next best thing and stuck by his charge through thick and thin, neither encouraging nor discouraging him to excess, merely walking at his side.

With this, though, he felt this was a place he could not journey to with Master Bruce. The people Batman interacted with every night were strangers to Alfred—individuals he knew by name and reputation, but not personally. He had never wished death upon anyone, but he had hoped that a world without the Joker in it would have been better. It seems, however, he was mistaken. Every candle left a ghost of light when it was extinguished.

"He meant well."

Bruce's fist tightened for a moment at Alfred's words. He did not have to specify who he was talking about. They had both heard the conversation in the car.

"I know."

"Do you think he was right?"

Bruce sighed. "I'm not sure. It seems I'm not sure of a lot of things, lately."

Alfred stepped forward and put a gentle hand on his charge's shoulder. "I would rather it that way. Uncertainty is what keeps us honest."

------------

Alfred's departing footsteps echoed hollowly around the Batcave. Bruce could still feel the place on his shoulder where the comforting hand had rested.

_I hope you know what you're doing, for Tim's sake_.

The words rung in his head for the thousandth time. Bruce was a confident man. He had made himself that way. As a person, as a businessman, as the Bat, he always knew what he wanted, where he was going, and exactly how to take it. Normally a typical response would have rolled off his tongue at Clark's jab, barely even stopping to make the electrical connection from his brain to his mouth. _I always know what I'm doing._

But sitting in the car, staring into the street, the words hadn't come. The thought wasn't there. Clark had made it all the way down to the steps and out of sight without receiving any reply.

_I hope you know what you're doing..._

The truth was, for the first time, he didn't.

Batman didn't know what he was doing. He had placed a child in danger. He had taken something impressionable, vulnerable, and crafted it as a tool to throw into the middle of his own battle.

Bruce Wayne didn't know what he was doing. He had surrounded himself with something that he'd never thought he needed, that he'd pushed away so many times in the forms of willing women and desperate friends. And now, in a heartbeat, he was recklessly throwing away everything he had worked so hard to create. What scared him more: He wasn't even thinking twice about it.

He had taken Tim immediately to the hospital. Not to Leslie Thompkins, not to Alfred, not to the Cave or the Manor. The hospital. The Bat family was good at changing clothes and discarding identities, and both had been done in the car that night. Barbara had cleaned Tim up, he drove, and in little less than half an hour, Bruce Wayne had appeared on the steps of Gotham hospital carrying a limp child in his arms.

Bruce didn't remember the story he had told them. He knew it was good. His lies were always good, but only snatches of it stayed with him. He'd have to brush up on it for the police interview that was undoubtedly coming. All he recalled of his thoughts then were one thing—the same thing he continued to think: He wished he could sell his very _soul_ just to switch places.

_...know what you're doing..._

Why hadn't he called the others? Why, when Tim went missing, hadn't he immediately used the resources that were available to him? Shayera's mind, Diana's strength, Clark's resources—even just the _eyes _would have been better than nothing. Eight pairs of eyes constantly searching instead of just two. And J'onn. Maybe J'onn could have found Tim before any of this even happened. Before the Joker had time.

But of course, he had provided the time, hadn't he? All those nights searching the bars, combing the streets, exhausting lines he _knew _wouldn't lead anywhere. All for Tim's sake? No. For his own.

_...for Tim's sake._

Maybe, for Tim's sake, it was time to set it right.

------------

A blur of activity suddenly caught J'onn's eye on the GSS console. A square panel located near the top beside six other identical boxes had suddenly turned on, displaying a series of different colored bars and a large red light. Surprised, J'onn leaned forward, too focused to notice Diana's private smile in the background. Batman had just turned on his communicator. Seconds later, a green button beneath the box began fluttering in succession and then going dark, indicating at an incoming call. He answered before it had time to flash again. "Watchtower."

"J'onn?" The voice on the line was unmistakably Batman's, but there was something different about it. The Martian immediately felt a heavy weight descend upon his shoulders, as if he were now carrying another person's burden in addition to his own.

"Yes?"

There was a pause. "...I need a favor."


	6. Chapter 6

I know I said 6 would be the last chapter, but the beta readers suggested a split that I really liked. Rest assured the rest of the story is here, it's just broken into more pieces than originally planned.

So this is it...the end of the road. Seventy-three pages, forty-four thousand words, and almost two years of time all brought down to this. I've had my closing notes prepared for a long time, but now that I'm sitting here trying to write the beginning of the end, I'm coming up short on words. I guess all I have to say is that I trust the story will speak for itself. And I hope that each and every one of you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Feel free to review with whatever's on your mind. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

To my beta readers: You two are wonderful. I don't think I can conjure up enough words from the English language to express my appreciation for all you've done for me (especially on these last chapters). But I will say that this story would have been significantly empty without your help. Thank you, Johnny and Neptune47. It's people like you that make writing so enjoyable.

And finally, **I have a surprise for you**, one I've been saving for the entire story: Within the next few days I will be posting all of the Extras for this story into a livejournal entry. Included in these will be author's notes and a GIGANTIC amount of deleted scenes because I cut a lot of stuff out. But best of all—and here's the surprise—I'll be posting another Justice League fanfiction that was the birth of this one. The two stories are different, but the concepts between them are the same (hence the reason it's going under author's notes and not its own title). It's about thirty-eight pages long and 90 percent finished, so you're not getting stiffed. It's called Through the Looking Glass and it was almost complete when I realized I hated it and decided to merge it with another idea I had. That's where Deep Within came from. It's a pretty good story for a first draft, so be on the lookout for that. The Extras and Scribbles can be found under the "Cutting Room Floor" link on my ffnet author homepage.

Ok, enough talking! On with the show...

* * *

Chapter 6

"Clerrace" J'onn muttered to himself, reading the green street sign as it passed gracefully beneath him. Focusing his mind, he disengaged his powers of flight and began his descent to the streets below.

The face of Gotham emerged from the shadows as the pavement moved up to greet him. Crooked alleyways and scraps of trash wound their way amidst a myriad of decrepit buildings, all dark like blackened souls standing against the last threshold of hell. Some of the edifices looked so pathetic he wondered if even hell itself had forsaken them. Surprisingly, in an area that seemed conducive to housing a swarm of thugs and gang members not a single soul occupied the shadowed streets...except for one.

J'onn alighted on the cold concrete, his cape fluttering softly to a rest behind him. A man across the deserted street was watching him intently from beneath a lamppost, his right hand tucked casually into the pocket of his ebony suit. As J'onn approached he could see the shadows playing throughout the small circle of light as if called there by sheer force of will. But even they were not dark enough to mask the blue eyes watching him.

"You must be Mr. Wayne."

The surprise in his voice was impossible to hide. When dealing with Batman it was usually wise to expect the unexpected, but this...

He was fairly lean—much leaner than the clothes he wore around the tower made him appear. The dark fabrics selected for their precise shades always seemed to layer themselves around him, making it difficult to distinguish exactly where he was underneath. Having seen him fight, J'onn understood how hard those layers made it to follow his movements. Before criminals could process the flash of black or the flutter of fabric they were usually sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

The man nodded, his eyes intense. In many ways seeing Batman without his concealing cowl was much more unnerving than it was with it on. When his eyes were shaded by the mask his penetrating gaze was only generalized, but with pupils and retinas to give his sight substance, there was nothing to blunt his intense glare. J'onn found himself immediately uncomfortable beneath the calculating grip. It had been a long time since he felt the real fear of having his mind read by another.

"I need you for a catharsis" Batman said detachedly.

J'onn was confused. Aside from the timing the request was not unusual. In the wake of Dr. Destiny's rampage he'd done hundreds of them.

A catharsis was a type of mental purging process. In terms of an alien psychic, it meant J'onn would enter the mind of a victim and attempt to coach them out of the mental prisons that bound them. He and Batman had become the somewhat self-appointed cleanup crew for such instances. His knowledge of healing coupled with Batman's proficiency in human medicine made them ideal for the task, and together they had spent countless hours tending to the victims of Destiny's wrath.

Generally, their nights during that time had been spent all in one place—a hospital for example—where they would move from room to room as a team. Batman would translate the medical charts and then keep watch as J'onn attempted to cure the patient. It was a delicate and painstaking process. It had taken them roughly two weeks of work before they had found all the victims, and even then some were beyond any help. Every once and a while afterward they would stumble upon a straggler they had missed, but the last one they had found was well over six months ago, and they had never met like this.

J'onn searched Batman's face. Without a mask to conceal anything he expected to be able to see the emotions playing across the man, but he was surprised at how difficult it was. Batman offered no hints to what he was thinking, no clues as to why he was falling so far out of character. In addition his mind revealed nothing...because J'onn could not read it.

Masked—it was the only word he could think to describe the sensation, as he had never felt anything like it before. On one hand he could feel Batman just as strongly as he could any human, but instead of the thoughts and emotions that should have been reaching him, all he sensed was a continuous stream of a single, powerful image. The image was symbolic, of course, as most things concerning the mind were. J'onn understood without explanation that it represented something far more that merely its content. It was...an ideal...a mantra...a source of inner motivation strong enough that it had almost taken a life of its own. And its presence was so overbearing that it drowned out everything else, making it the only thing he could see and therefore read from Batman's mind. The fact that a human could do such a thing was nothing short of remarkable, but at the same time the image disturbed him.

_He was standing in an alley. At his back, the bright marquee of a theater lit the grimy streets beneath his feet._

He had seen that place before...

"My car's nearby" Batman stated in his usual assertive fashion. His gaze quickly flicked down and then back up. "You might want to change."

The others would have wanted to know what was going on. They would have asked questions, voiced their own opinions, expressed their annoyance at being kept out of the loop.

J'onn did not.

Bruce watched with a detached interest as the Martian gathered his concentration and shifted into his human form. After only a few seconds he was left staring into the eyes of a man of approximately forty-five wearing a tan suit and trench coat. When he saw all was ready, he turned and led the way to his vehicle parked discretely some blocks away. He wasn't worried about his black Jaguar being burglarized in this rough area of town. The Batman had been sure to make a fearful appearance earlier that day that would linger for several hours.

Silently, they got in the car.

--------------------

"This requires a great deal of trust."

J'onn's voice seemed to drift out of nothing, much like his characteristic phasing ability. "I am deeply honored."

"It was necessary" came the ungracious reply.

"...Of course."

There was silence for a long time. The Martian's eyes drifted almost mechanically to the road, watching the yellow stripes emerging out of the cloaking darkness to fall into the car's headlights.

_A pair of eyes was staring back at him, ones he had seen before, headlights in the darkness._

He turned away from the images. He had long ago figured out where they had been coming from—in fact, a part of him might have always known—but he hadn't been this close to Batman since it started. He was beginning to believe everything he had been experiencing over the last few days was connected together somehow, and it all centered around this. He thought about the alley, the hospital, the strange and sudden request; but the more he dwelled on the pieces, the farther away he seemed to drift, almost as if he were reluctant to truly see the final picture.

Batman's mind wasn't able to mask itself forever. As the drive dragged on and the silence grew thicker, whatever resolve was holding it together began to deteriorate beneath other distractions. Though the alley, or rather the idea of it, still hung heavy in the foreground, J'onn started to feel what was stirring underneath. Most prevalent of all was a sorrow...a deep, raw sorrow that felt new and yet old at the same time. Very old. There was anger and concern but there was also a strength, albeit an uncomfortable strength that seemed unsure of where it was supposed to stand. It puzzled him as to why, but he sensed Batman was not holding this meeting entirely of his free will.

He wanted to talk about it. As both a Martian and an individual it was in J'onn's nature to discuss what was on his mind openly with others. He had come to realize long ago, however, that human beings guarded such things very carefully from one another, particularly where emotions were involved. In numerous situations they actually seemed to prefer lies over truth, silence over honesty. At first he'd simply attributed this to their naturally competitive natures, but he'd gradually come to realize that it was more of a necessity than it seemed. Unable to use physical weapons in many of their societies, humans had grown to wield emotional ones instead. Angry children ran away, jealous marriages ended in affairs, heated words grew into arguments, and misplaced relationships destroyed entire lives. It was different from his culture, but in a way it was the same. Human beings protected themselves from mental harm just as his shield protected him. The only difference was in the methods. Martians had their ways of hurting one another; humans had ones entirely different.

J'onn shook his head. Even within a homogenous society there was so much _distrust_...It was a wonder his presence had been accepted into this culture at all. The humans had been more than a little wary of him at first, but it had not taken long for them to accept his membership with the Justice League as proof of his integrity. By now most had taken to his powers extremely well. He couldn't help a sideways glance, however, as he thought of others who had not.

Batman had never warmed up to his psychic abilities. It was a sore spot between them that had been festering for a long time. Though the Dark Knight had never brought it up in words, he didn't like how easily J'onn could penetrate any and every façade he wore. On one level this gained the Martian respect and trust that none of the others had; on another, it also gained him a deep resentment, possibly deeper than Batman himself even knew he possessed.

J'onn's human eyes, now colored a passive green, fell downwards. Maybe, in light of what his abilities had evolved into, that resentment was well deserved.

He gave himself a mental shake before the thought could wander any further. There would be time to worry about himself later. Right now, Batman needed his help.

"I am assuming we are headed to one of the nearby hospitals" he said. "May I ask the name of the victim?"

"Shouldn't you know that already?"

The statement was not offensive, merely a question, but J'onn felt a twinge of guilt all the same. "I must admit your call was...unexpected. I, like the others, have long worried that something is amiss, but I doubt the situation is much clearer to me than it is them. I try not to intrude, even given my gifts." He paused. "However...There are some things I do know. I sense this matter is most grave. I know some terrible fortune has recently befallen you and those you care about. I know you are aggrieved, I can feel you are in pain, and I am probably one of the few who knows exactly how much you are sacrificing to come to me like this. I know all of these things without meaning to, and as someone who seems to take particular offense from it, I extend my deepest apologies."

"No need. I'm surprised you even got that far."

J'onn tried to force a smile. "You do not exactly make it easy. Out of everyone, I would say I know you the least, and I am psychic."

Batman's lips suddenly thinned. "Well" he said softly, "you're going to learn a lot about me tonight."

--------------------

The car came to a stop between the stone walls of a narrow dead-end alley stretching between two nondescript buildings. As J'onn stepped out of the car and began to follow Batman out of the shadows he tried with little success to determine where they were. He knew from paying attention during the drive that they were somewhere in the inner city, approximately forty minutes away from where they had met, but it was not until he saw the familiar letters lit in neon white far above his head that he realized where he stood.

_The name flashed in his mind even though he could not read the words: Gotham Hospital._

He turned. The parking lot stretching before him was instantly recognizable now that he knew he was viewing it from another angle. His gaze swung to take in the enormous building reaching for the heavens in all its manmade splendor. Though this was the first time he had ever seen this place, he found that he knew a substantial amount about it. He felt the information gathered from countless hours of intense study begin to flow through him as readily as air through his lungs—but the air was cold and foreign, unnatural, and he knew instantly that it was not his, even though he had no choice but to breathe it.

The hospital was built in 1992 to assist its sister facility located a few blocks away with the inflow of patients. It was remodeled once last year to fix an ongoing problem with water damage in the hallways due to a poorly designed draining system, and had received fourteen upgrades to its security system since it was first built. There were seven security monitoring rooms within the hospital, the largest of which was located on the top floor. The system consisted of the basics in protection such as a live video feed from each exit, entrance, and elevator and automated alarms on each. The cameras, however, due to a last-minute budget cut, were unable to be installed in each of the hallways. Instead, the hospital had opted to cover only one-third of the building which included the operating rooms and those holding expensive equipment. This made it fairly easy to break in providing those hallways were avoided.

Several alleyways towards the back of the building were reserved for the hospital staff to deliver supplies and were hardly used at this time of night. In fact, there was one loading dock that was barely used at all anymore, and that currently housed a black Jaguar that had been parked discreetly so as not to attract attention. As he approached the front doors to the lobby, overwhelmed with the information he suddenly realized he had memorized, J'onn could not help looking up at the windows peering down at him from the floors above. Automatically, his gaze slid to one in particular situated on the eastern side of the sixteenth floor. The analytical presence receded with his dread.

Inside, the waiting room was brightly lit. It never ceased to amaze him how crowded hospitals always seemed to be, particularly at night. Blue plastic chairs with connected metal armrests were stretched in rows wherever they could fit and almost all of them were filled. Left with nothing better to focus on, the glazed eyes occupying the seats glanced up whenever the doors opened. The long hours of monotonous staring, however, were broken when Bruce Wayne walked into the room. J'onn followed awkwardly behind as Gotham's billionaire celebrity crossed the floor to sign in at the front desk. The number of eyes following the two of them were painfully obvious, to say nothing of the flurry of mental speculations that suddenly buzzed in the air, but he tried his best to ignore them. After only a few moments the receptionist waved both of them through, flashing a shy smile at Bruce Wayne as they left.

J'onn was glad to step into the privacy of the elevator, though he felt it would be his final sanctuary before the storm. The ride to the sixteenth floor seemed to end all too soon. He had just begun to brace himself for what was ahead when the doors chimed and, without a word of direction, Batman stepped out into the hallway. His Gucci shoes echoed hollowly on the white floors as he led the way through the tangled masses of corridors towards the back of the building. After several twists and turns that seemed more befitting a maze than a hospital, he rounded one last corner and then stopped in front of room 1655. As J'onn watched, his demeanor made an abrupt change. His hand fell upon the cold silver bar that served as the doorknob and paused, as if taking a moment to steel itself. Within seconds the coarse exterior had receded like smoke from his face. Then, with practiced caution and care, he opened the door silently and stepped inside.

The hospital room was like the hundreds of others J'onn had been in. Cast in the shade of the industrial fluorescent lighting, the floor, walls, and ceiling all wore the same motif: white. The color seemed to have a sterilized feel to it, one that was not judgmental or threatening. To the left of the door was a silver counter with a few tattered magazines scattered on its surface. Across the room, three worn chairs covered in cheap leather fabric were resting haphazardly against the back wall beside the window. One had obviously been pushed back from a much closer position beside the bed. On the right side another door led discretely to a bathroom which, in turn, opened up into room 1654. With a familiar reluctance, J'onn then turned his eyes to the bed.

A young child lay there, covered up to his chest in papery white sheets. His large brown eyes were barely visible through the numerous strands of dirty black hair lazily scattered across his brow. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, his small chest rising and falling gently in time with his breaths. Dangling over the side of the bed from just underneath the sheets was a small section of thick leather strap. As it was now, the restraint was not being used.

The child's empty gaze did not falter as the two visitors entered the room. Captivated by what he was being shown, J'onn found himself stepping towards the bed before the door even had time to close. The boy looked to be thirteen by human standards. His youngest had been about that age. Instinctively, he placed a fatherly hand on the child's chest. His eyes then turned disbelieving to Batman...no, Bruce.

"Is he yours?"

The reply was not immediate. Bruce moved to stand at the edge of the bed. His hand gripped the railing as he leaned off of his left leg. "He's my responsibility. His name is Timothy Drake. He's an...associate of mine."

J'onn's gaze turned thoughtfully back to the child. An associate? He wasn't fooled. He used to have sons of his own. He recognized all too well that look in Wayne's eye, however skillfully suppressed. He had felt that look upon himself before...in a time that seemed so, so long ago.

"What happened to him?"

Bruce paused, pain flashing unchecked across his face for a brief, vulnerable moment. Then, he spoke:

"It was the Joker..."

Silently, patiently, J'onn allowed him to explain everything at his own pace and terms. As he listened, the mask hiding Bruce Wayne's thoughts began to fade, and he finally began to realize the horrible significance of the images that still sat burned into his memory. On some level Batman had to have known his explanation was unnecessary...but maybe, J'onn thought—just maybe—he was not as cold as he tried so hard to make everyone believe. Maybe even he needed a friendly ear now and again.

"That was three days ago" he finished. J'onn noticed offhandedly that his voice was much more subdued than when he had started. "Since then Tim's done nothing but get worse. Normally I would have kept the public hospitals out of this altogether, but my usual source was out of town the night it happened. She's seen him since then and promises she'll do her best. She's a friend of mine, a respectable psychologist...but she doesn't think it will be enough. Neither do I."

Bruce sighed tiredly, expelling the weight of the world and then drawing it back in. "As it is, Tim's in a real danger of becoming catatonic. I've managed to keep the doctors from moving him, but if he slips any more they've made it very clear he will have to be committed." His eyes gave a sudden, violent flash of anger. "He is _not _going to Arkham."

The flare receded and was instantly filled with fatigue, concern, worry. For the first time since they entered he turned his eyes to Tim. His shoulders seemed to visibly cave at the sight of the child lying helpless in the bed. "The doctors have done all they can" he finished quietly. The sentence cadenced with a hint of hopelessness.

J'onn, too, looked down pitifully upon the small figure. It was true he had done this several times before, but those victims had all been strangers. The things he learned and saw within their minds were nothing more than occurrences that, to him, held no meaning. This was different.

Swallowing once, he inched closer to the bed, his human form melting away as he did so. The mind was an extremely delicate organ. He could not afford to be distracted once inside it. Automatically, he raised both his hands, fingers spread, ready to set them on the defining places of the human skull to allow the most efficient transmission—but inches from touching Tim's skin, he stopped.

"...You realize once I do this...I will know things."

"It doesn't matter."

J'onn nodded. With that final signal, he placed his hands on Tim's head, burning with fever and sweat, and then the room faded from awareness.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Time passed. Bruce hated this part, waiting for hours on end with no way to make himself useful other than to keep watch. The blinds to the room had long ago been closed and his jacket hung securely over the window on the door. As the hours of the night ticked by he sat in a chair facing the door and kept an eye out for anyone checking the rooms. He had made an "arrangement" with the hospital staff that allowed him to bend some of the visiting rules for just one night, but he still wasn't foolish enough to believe their deal whole-heartedly. After a short time the motion sensor beside the door switched off the overhead lights. He did not bother to turn them back on.

In wake of the darkness the eerie glow of J'onn's yellow eyes cast a perverse light throughout the room. The luminance was more than a little disconcerting, but it allowed Bruce to see that, for the first time since the accident, Tim's face was relaxed, his ragged eyes closed in blissful sleep. He hoped the battle within was going as smoothly as it looked from without.

Every once and a while he glanced over to check on J'onn. Knowing almost nothing about the powers working before him, he only had the Martian's own instructions to guide him as he watched for anything unusual. The way J'onn had explained it, sometimes within the subconscious of another the mind would recognize the foreign invasion and attempt to merge the two psyches in order to restore balance. When that occurred he had to withdraw fast lest he lose the connection to his own body. If he couldn't do it on his own, someone had to be ready to try and snap him out of it, preferably with a sensation that traveled to the brain quickly, like pain. Of all the times they'd done this Bruce had never had to step in. He didn't want tonight to be the first.

More than accustomed to sitting motionless for hours on end, he waited with unending patience as he listened to both J'onn and Tim mutter indistinguishably into the darkness. Then, after a little more than three hours of waiting, J'onn suddenly moved and the lights flicked on with the power of a gunshot. By the time the Martian stumbled backwards Bruce was already there to steady him.

J'onn recoiled from the touch as if it burned, staggering blindly until he found a wall to steady himself against. A tear was drying his cheek—a reminder of being bonded with Tim's tortured mind. Gradually, the life he had just lived and his own separated, and he began to remember who and where he was. Within moments he was able to stand under his own power, though his hands continued to tremble. He thrust them down to his sides to hide how violently they shook.

Bruce had moved away once he saw J'onn was steady enough to hold himself upright. The lingering confusion was nothing unusual; it simply needed a few moments to pass. As he waited, he studied Tim intensely in an effort to control his impatience. He tried to keep himself from making any speculations, but at seeing Tim's eyes still closed in a relaxed sleep, he couldn't help but take it as a hopeful sign. When he felt J'onn's eyes on him, he looked up.

"Can you help him?"

J'onn took a shaky breath as he considered his answer carefully before speaking. "There are powerful forces at work within this boy, not all of them fixable. Some will probably plague him for the rest of his life. However, they have not completely claimed him yet. It will take several more sessions, but...I believe I can help." His expression turned hopeful. "You should know that the mental block that has currently seized him is not of a foreign design, and that is good. Tim built it himself as a defense mechanism—a shield for protection. It means I won't be able to step deep inside his mind to help him out of it, so a great majority of his thoughts will not be available to me, but it does mean it is removable. Ultimately, however, he must be the one to choose to take it down."

Bruce did not take the time to digest the information as J'onn had though he would. Instead, he pulled a chair close to the bed and coolly took a seat. The words that followed felt as if they had been practiced many times. "I want to know what the Joker did."

J'onn looked away. He wasn't sure that was a good idea. Batman didn't know what he was asking.

The demand came again—solid, determined. "J'onn. Tell me."

Sighing, the Martian sunk into his own respective chair and began speaking in a soft, reserved voice.

Now it was his turn to tell a story.

--------------------

The automatic doors to the hospital closed with a gentle _swish _behind the pair as they exited out into the parking lot. There was no conversation to accompany them on the journey back to the car. The only sounds were those of their footsteps walking in time and the occasional splash of water from the puddles that stood in their way.

Bruce had not said anything since asking J'onn to relate what he'd seen. He was an excellent listener, almost frighteningly so, and had remained attentive and impassive throughout the telling. To J'onn, however—who could see on more planes than just the ones he was shown—the tale had been difficult to relate. The words hurt. He had felt the damage they were doing as he'd said them, so much so that more than once he had given serious consideration to stopping and refusing to continue no matter what was said. But each time the temptation arose, he reminded himself that Batman deserved far more than that. He was family, and as such he deserved the truth. If there was one thing a family should _always _have been able to share...it was the truth.

This thought followed him even after he had finished and during the long, silent walk out of the hospital, past the receptionist's desk, and into the warm night air. With the anxieties of the unknown now deadened into the calm yet sorrowful folds of understanding, J'onn's mind drifted away from Tim Drake back to his own shadow hovering darkly over his shoulder. His eyes glanced thoughtfully to the side, studying Bruce Wayne's pale face in the limited light. He had used his abilities to perform a great service here tonight, but deep within he knew it did little to outweigh all he had discovered. And deep within, he also knew it was time to stop denying, to stop running from himself and make the decision on what to do about it...just as Batman had.

He would have to tell the others.

The mere thought of it made J'onn instantly uncomfortable, but it had to be done. He saw now quite clearly that he had betrayed the Justice League. They trusted him, and he had taken advantage of that trust as well as broken it. Batman had been right to be wary of his abilities; J'onn was finally able to admit this to himself. Now, all that was left was to admit it to the others.

"I don't know how many favors I can get from the hospital staff."

Bruce's voice startled him out of his own thoughts. "I'm sorry?" he asked, puzzled.

"I'm assuming you'll have to get in to see Tim again. But I can't bend the rules forever without them getting suspicious."

On the surface it seemed as if things were returning to normal. J'onn felt himself slip effortlessly into routine as Batman began examining the situation from the logical standpoints that were his specialty. But both men knew no number of rituals could hide what was truly on their minds. The reprieve would not last long.

"Oh, yes" he answered halfheartedly. "I suppose that will be something we must work out." The humans had long ago learned to accept him as a member of the Justice League, and ordinarily hospitals allowed him free entry to work his miracles. This situation, however, was much more delicate than anything he had faced before. It would do no good to have Bruce Wayne's name closely associated with _anything _having to do with the Justice League, no matter how justified the contact between them was. "I am not sure how long or how many sessions it will take to coax Tim out of his prison." J'onn continued. "Is there a way you can have him moved to a private hospital? Or even into your personal care? It would make things a great deal simpler."

"I'll see what I can do, but I can't move immediately—not until I know what the authorities are planning."

The Gotham police...it was not until they were mentioned that J'onn was reminded of the ramifications lying just beyond the immediate situation. He knew, just as Bruce Wayne knew, that more troubles waited eagerly on the horizon. Tim's fight may have been drawing to a close, but the battle was not over; it was merely in the process of moving to a different field. He was only able to dwell on it for a moment, however, before he was reminded that he was not supposed to know about the authorities at all.

"You have placed great faith in me this night...and now I feel there is something I must tell you."

The words came forth with a mind of their own. The night air grew thicker as the pair stopped before the black Jaguar they had vacated only hours before. J'onn lost the concentration needed to hold his human form as he paused in the awkward silence, fishing hopelessly for the rest of what he needed to say. Then a voice suddenly spoke for him.

"You knew."

His eyes shot up, horrified, but Batman's expression was simply tired, unchangingly so. "You don't have to be psychic to be able to read people. Even aliens."

"I am afraid it goes far beyond mere knowing" J'onn replied softly. "I was there."

Batman did not answer. He needed no more of an explanation. The members of the Justice League were very familiar with the fact that there was a range to the Martian's psychic abilities, but only one had ever asked for a specific measurement. In addition, it was no secret that the entire League had been in New York the night he had faced the Joker.

"I should have said something earlier" J'onn continued, the words falling into place almost automatically. "I fear my powers have grown far beyond anything I can control. The longer I stay here and the more I use them, the stronger they become. They are evolving. I do not know how it is happening, I did not even think it was possible, but they are adapting to this planet, these people...the Justice League. And now you and the others have been caught up against your will into a maelstrom of force that I cannot curb. I fear I may have become the thing I fought so hard to defeat all those centuries ago. And there is no way that I can—"

But he never got to finish. For at that moment, with no consideration to the magnitude of what he was saying, he was interrupted.

"J'onn. I don't care."

He stared and fell silent. At first he thought he had heard incorrectly, but Batman seemed as calm as ever, his voice as even as his words:

"You use your abilities for a good cause. The fact that you're Martian and we're not is out of your control, just as your powers are when they're thrown into an environment you couldn't possibly have prepared them for. I don't like speaking for the others, but what I'm about to tell you, you can take as the word of the entire Justice League: Whatever you were going to say, whatever you had rehearsed, it's not necessary. We aren't concerned with who you were or who you think you are. You don't owe it to us to explain everything about your old life. Your actions speak loud enough, and that's where our trust in you is based."

J'onn was speechless. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. Out of all the people in a position to feel outrage at such a confession, he assumed Batman's would have been the strongest. But not even the darkest recesses of Bruce Wayne's mind compromised his words.

He couldn't explain why, but for the first time in weeks peace entered his mind. Already he could feel the shadow lifting from his shoulders. A part of him still wanted to hold onto the guilt, the shame, but it was a part that had been suppressing an old life for so long it may as well have been embracing it. In turning away from everything he once was, he had simply led himself to yearn for that sense of trust, of companionship, of family even more. And now he saw that he had found it again in six people whom he trusted with his life, and also with the most sacred gift a Martian could ever give: his soul.

"Do you need me to drive you anywhere?"

Routine returned, except it no longer seemed awkward or wrong. There was nothing underneath to hide.

"No...I will return to the Watchtower from here. It is late and there is sufficient enough cover for me to fly over the city. Tim should awaken by midday tomorrow, though he may be slightly disoriented. It would be good to have someone he knows nearby as he's waking up."

"I'll be there."

"Thank you for—"

"No, J'onn. Thank you. From both of us."

The Martian nodded. Turning, he readied himself to lift off into the air when suddenly he felt a hand grip him on the arm, asking him to stop.

"There's one more thing..."

He turned to face this man he had come to know with a new respect in the past few hours; but even as he met Bruce Wayne's eyes, he could already see the person underneath sinking beneath a dark shadow, perhaps never to surface in such a way again.

"This stays here."

J'onn regarded him in silence for a moment. "I understand" he said, feeling slightly hurt that Batman would even feel the need to stipulate such a condition. "It is ironic, though, that for being the most human out of all of us...you should make the greatest effort to conceal it."

--------------------

They were waiting for him.

J'onn could feel it long before he approached the tower. It was very rare for the entire Justice League to all be together so late into the shift schedule, but they'd each made an appoint to be there tonight. By now Wonder Woman's fears had undoubtedly spread to each of them. The connections linking them to J'onn allowed them to share, to a small and subconscious extent, the emotions playing through his mind. They didn't know why they felt they needed be at the tower, they just knew it was important.

He entered to find them conducting a meeting with the New York authorities over the incident from a few days ago. There were streets to be repaired, assurances to be made, and other such manners of politics that often followed a victory of that nature. It was something constructive for the League to do as long as they were all there. Ordinarily he would have stood outside the room until the call was finished, but he thought it unfair to make the others wait any longer. It sounded from the conversation that they were on the verge of finishing, anyway. Quietly, he stepped through the door and took his usual seat at the round table before the large video monitor used for conference calls. The others glanced at him briefly when he entered, but were aware enough to not appear distracted while they were doing business—except for Flash, who kept trying to catch J'onn's eye for a positive or negative sign of the situation. Hiding a smile, the Martian indulged him with a brief mental message.

The conference call ended shortly afterwards when Superman cleverly steered it into a quick close. Thank-you's were exchanged all around, and then the League was left to itself.

Wonder Woman spoke first—so much like Batman in her willingness to take the initiative. "We heard."

J'onn glanced to a particular set of eyes across the table. He may have been bound to a promise of silence, but Superman was not. "Then I suppose there is very little I could say that you don't already know."

"Should we wait 'till later?" Flash asked in concern. "You look like you're gonna fall over."

"No. There is actually not much to relate. As far as I can tell Tim is fine for now. I did the best I could, but it will take time before I will know what is helping and what isn't."

Hawkgirl folded her hands on the table. "Is there anything we can do?"

"I may be unable to take watch for the next few weeks."

"We can handle that" Green Lantern offered. "New York and the surrounding cities are in the process of getting their volunteer organizations in place. It should take some of the pressure off of us."

"I think we could all use the break" the Martian answered.

The others agreed, some with ironic smiles, save for one.

"And what about Batman?" Superman asked.

J'onn's gaze fell. To the others it seemed as if he was looking at the table, but in truth he was already miles away. His eyes turned inward, seeing the silhouette of a man hunched on a sofa in an empty living room, his head buried in one hand in a pose that none would ever see. Above him, a man and woman smiled through the careful brushstrokes of a family portrait that hung above an intricate mantle. Their faces were concealed in shadow, but below them, the fireplace crackled with a determined flame, casting its light across the room.

"He will come when he is ready."

End

* * *

"Man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but not defeated."  
- Ernest Hemingway

* * *


	8. Afterward

Afterward

"I'm _telling _you, it was _electricity_!" Flash called out over the television.

Across the room, Hawkgirl uttered a curse in a foreign tongue and flung back the same argument she'd been flinging for days. "It was ice, Flash!"

"What say we don't call those two next time" Superman muttered, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the back wall. J'onn laughed in response.

"We could move to one of the rooms farther down in the tower."

"Except I don't trust Flash around all this food." Superman's eyes swept across the room to take a quick stock of their supplies. He was fairly certain they'd brought enough cake and party snacks to feed ten Flashes, but sometimes it was hard to tell, particularly because the speedster liked to take things with him 'for later.'

The Justice League had good reason to celebrate. For one, they'd gone an entire week without anything but minor calls, making it the first since the crisis in the New England states began. But far more compelling was the fact that Superman had just bought a new large screen high definition television and announced he was donating it to the League. The six of them were now gathered in the "living room" of the tower to christen the new entertainment device. The TV station had been stuck on a random news channel ever since Flash had relinquished the remote to resume the argument he'd been having on and off with Hawkgirl recently.

As the two bickered from opposite sides of the room, Wonder Woman and Green Lantern laughed heartily from their places on the sofa, periodically egging the contestants on—not that they needed encouragement. They had been going for a half hour since the last time Superman checked, and that was before the current news program had started. He was just about to lean over to ask J'onn a question when a sudden name from the television caught his ear. Drowning out the noise the others were making, he leaned forward and tried desperately to hear what the news reporter was saying. He didn't notice J'onn's knowing gaze shift to the far side of the room.

"_Intentions on the Wayne vs. Drake case were made public earlier today. Gotham's foremost billionaire being brought under fire by a slew of allegations ranging from negligence to child endangerment charges over the kidnapping of Timothy Drake. The city of Gotham has determined that there is insufficient evidence to try the defendant criminally, but several local child-advocate organizations have already expressed their intent to file a massive civil suit. Chances are if they do win they won't go home disappointed. Mr. Wayne's net worth is estimated at over thirty—"_

"Hey!" Flash shouted out suddenly as the television flicked off with a violent _click._ "We were watching—"

The sentence was left hanging in thin air as every eye turned to see a living shadow standing in the doorway, remote in hand.

There was a brief silence as Batman stepped forward into the light. He seemed the same in every respect...except his arms and body were fully concealed within his cape. To some in the Justice League the stance was simply characteristic, but to those who had learned to recognize it, it spoke of reservation—or in this case, reluctance. It was the closest Batman ever got to displaying diffidence.

"Bats!"

Flash leaned on a nearby table with one arm, his eyes squinting shrewdly as he shared a private look with Hawkgirl. "Now that you're back, maybe you can settle something for us."

Batman paid him as much attention as he usually did—in short, none. Cape billowing massively behind him, he moved smoothly across the room towards a door on the opposite side that led up to the main deck.

Lantern was already turned backwards on the sofa, one elbow draped leisurely over the back. "Heard you had an emergency" he said. His eyes followed Batman closely. "Everything ok?"

"Fine."

He frowned at the tone. "You were gone for a while."

"You'll be compensated."

Superman stepped forward, shooting Lantern a look. He wasn't completely blocking the path to the door...yet...but it was obvious he was intending to do more than just say a few short words. "I don't think that's what Lantern meant—"

"I know what he meant" came the reply. Batman glowered challengingly, already anticipating what was on Superman's mind. "And I _don't _need your condolences."

The last thing he wanted to hear right now was a string of Clark's usual, blithering apologies. He had heard them nearly his entire life: _I'm sorry for your loss, Bruce. I'm sorry things didn't work out with that girl, Bruce. I'm sorry about your parents, Bruce. I'm sorry about your whole damn life, Bruce._ They were pointless—just fancy words intended as an opiate to stupefy someone out of accepting the truth. Even on a good day he had little patience for them.

Whatever concern had been on Superman's face quickly hardened. Batman had a remarkable ability to make people sorely regret ever granting him a shred of compassion. Superman, however, was a little too used to the game by now. Bruce had already begun to walk past him when he stuck a hand out and insistently pushed on his shoulder, forcing him to halt. He was lucky Batman wasn't gifted with heat vision, otherwise the subsequent glare he got would have bored straight through his skull.

Its purpose served, the hand withdrew to extend outwards in open invitation of a handshake. "Then how about just a 'welcome back'?"

The glower in Batman's eyes faded. Acting a little more responsive and a little less reluctantly than expected, he accepted the gesture with a firm grip. Clark held on longer than a cordial greeting, using that to express his sorrow since he couldn't say it aloud. To his surprise Bruce didn't pull away. Then, without another word between them, Batman gave a nod and swept out of the room.

"Just a sec, Bats!" Flash called as he was exiting into the hallway. "The first time you fought Clayface, did you use ice or electricity!"

"Electricity."

To the sound of Batman's feet echoing hollowly down the hall, Flash's victorious voice drifted back from the living room:

"**HA! **I _told _you so!"

* * *

I learned a lot of things while writing this story:

I learned that there were actually three Flashes and that the one in the Justice League show is Wally West, the third one.  
I learned that the guy who does Flash's voice in the JL show is the guy who plays Lex Luthor on WB's live-action series, "Smallville."  
I learned that I _did _know the guy who does Green Lantern's voice—Phil Lamar.  
I learned Wonder Woman's culture is centered around Greek Mythology (I couldn't remember if it was Greek or Roman).  
I learned that I feel really sorry for J'onn...even more so than I used to.  
I learned that Gotham is actually another name for New York City.  
I learned that dialogues with multiple characters talking is _incredibly_ hard to do.  
I learned that the _Return of the Joker _has _two _versions: an edited and an unedited one.  
I learned that Amazon-dot-com does indeed ship to PO Boxes.  
I learned that closed captioning is awesome when you can't figure out what the Joker is saying in one of his lines.  
I learned that the Joker, in fact, did **NOT** kill Bruce Wayne's parents. (That one just blew me off the floor. I had always held that as an elemental truth. Stupid Batman movie).  
I learned that Batman refuses to kill people, which was really good because I initially had him getting really close. (Good thing I caught that one).  
I learned why, in the first episode of Batman Beyond, it looked really weird for Batman (Bruce Wayne) to be holding a gun.  
And I learned that there is a HUGE difference between the comic book Batman and the cartoon Batman that I have grown to know and love.

But most importantly of all, I learned that there is no better feeling in the world than writing a story that other people like to read.

Thank you.  
Without you guys, this would be nothing.

- Lael Adair -


End file.
